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Chapter Text

“Spirits.”

Jin stares at the broken tip of her pencil, willing it to put itself back together.

“Why do you always do this?” The pencil doesn’t respond, as it’s a pencil, and Jin just sighs. She’ll have to do what she can to fix it.

Reaching down from her perch on the tree, Jin fishes in her bag for her switchblade. Her hand connects with the cool marble handle. She extracts it, the blade fitting comfortably in her hand. It was a birthday present from her older brother, before he left to fight in the war. Even though the rest of her family found relative peace Ba Sing Se, Bao had not been able to forget their burnt-down village and dead friends and family. He left as soon as he could, running away from home. But he left memories and hurting hearts behind him. Jin has written to him every week for the last three years, begging him to stay safe. The letters she gets in response don’t come as often as she would like, but they do come. Jin can’t complain about that.

Jin runs away differently. So often she finds herself here, or in any number of local tea shops, or even just sitting on the roof of her family’s bakery and home. She spends as much time as she can drawing, away from people who remind her of the past. While she loves her family, it’s sometimes hard to look at her younger brother’s face and not remember the twins, who were trapped in their family home when it burned down. Or look at Tai, her cousin-turned-adoptive-sister, and not remember all the friends they left behind. Or look at her grandparents, and not remember the other set of grandparents who she’ll never see again.

Flicking the blade open, she re-sharpens her charcoal pencil, muttering under her breath at it all the while. The least her pencil could do is not break. But no, everything in her life has to be complicated. When she finishes sharpening the pencil, she shoves the switchblade back into her satchel, not wanting to think about her brother- or her past- any longer. This was supposed to be a relaxing afternoon.

Jin looks up at the landscape, over the green rooftops painted with gold from the setting sun. A soft, sweet-smelling breeze brushes against her skin, playing with the strands of hair that have come loose from her braids.

This park is one of her favourite places to come. It’s normally empty on workdays, and Jin finds a good companion in the solitary tree on the hill. It’s old and gnarled, but still standing. It’s as determined as anyone she knows. And strangely, she loves the permanence of it. Jin knows that the tree won’t ever leave, even if she leaves it. It’s firmly rooted in the ground, solid and unchanging.

Jin’s drawing lays half-finished on her lap, rough and unfinished. Giving her pencil a muttered reminder not to break again, she begins drawing. The rough bark of the tree jabs into her back, but Jin ignores the pain. She sketches until the sun fades so far beyond the west wall that it’s hard to make out her lines. The air grows cold, a chill creeping into her fingers makes them stiff and clumsy. Snapping her sketchbook closed, Jin vaults off the tree, landing squarely beneath it. She grabs her satchel, shoves her sketchbook into it, and begins the long trek home. Because even though she runs away, Jin always returns. That way, at least, she doesn’t break anyone’s heart in the process.

Chapter Text

Prying up a floorboard in her room, Jin removes the box containing her life’s savings. It’s a small wooden box, ornately carved, and complete with a tiny gold-plated clasp. It’s the most expensive thing she owns. It heralds from Jin’s life before Ba Sing Se; her maternal grandmother had been a carpenter. The woman made it for Jin’s sixth birthday. Miraculously, the little box survived the fire that burnt down her family home and killed her two youngest siblings and mother’s parents, escaping unharmed except for a few burn marks on one side. Despite the scars, it’s lovely, and Jin’s most prized possession.

Flipping it open, Jin surveys the contents: a stack of seven gold pieces, three tall stacks of silver pieces, and plenty of copper pieces scattered around them. Gently placing in her earnings from the week- all coppers- Jin lets out a sigh. Even though she’s been saving for years, putting nearly everything she’s ever earned away, it’s not even a fraction of what she would need to pay for university. Even if she could manage to get a scholarship, the most they’ll pay for is four-fifths of the tuition, which means Jin would have to manage to scrounge up one hundred gold pieces for a single year of university. At this rate, she’ll be graying before she can afford it.

Jin swallows, a painful lump forming in her throat. Snapping the box lid closed, she replaces the box in its home under the floorboard. University isn’t possible, not even nearly, and without it, she’ll never become a real artist. Jin could spend the whole rest of her life drawing, but she would never be able to go anywhere, not really. All the famous artists paint in oils and draw in ink. Jin simply can’t afford expensive materials.

Standing, Jin gathers her sketchbook and pencils, and opens the large trapdoor that leads downstairs. Sitting and wallowing in her room isn’t going to do her any good. Climbing down the ladder, Jin enters into the main living space of her family, everyone talking and laughing. Lan is perched on the edge of a chair, attentively watching their grandmother and Tai, surprisingly, in an intense game of pai sho. Her three other family members are watching from the other side, constantly making suggestions and giving advice. Tai doesn’t look like she wants it. Lamps spilling out yellow-gold light illuminate the room, flickering light dancing across the green carpet.

No one notices as Jin enters the room. She settles herself on top of a drawer, opens her sketchbook, and begins to draw. As much as her art reminds her of everything that she can’t have, it’s still Jin’s solace. A way to escape. Jin loses herself in the rhythmic motions of her lines, listening with half an ear to the conversation ebbing around her. Her drawing ends up being a sketch of her family, but with the faces all wrong. They turned into theatre masks; cold, unfeeling, and distant. Shivering a little, Jin closes the sketchbook. She doesn’t want to think about what that means. Sometimes her art does this, growing into something that she can’t control, even if she wanted to. And even though they’re strange, distorted, and sometimes incredibly creepy, they’re always the most beautiful. But her art- however beautiful it is- will never make it off the ground. No one but her family will ever see the strange fantasies of Jin’s mind. And that’s more than a little lonely.

Chapter Text

Lan’s little hand has a tight grip on Jin, and he’s dragging her with all the ferocity of an angry tigerdillo. There’s no way to stop her little brother when he gets like this. He acts like a tigerdillo, too, pretending he can’t hear a single word you say. It is possible to overcome him with physical strength, but Jin really isn’t in the mood. She’s more than happy to let the kid drag her halfway across the city, or wherever he’s going. At least she isn’t cooped up in the apartment, watching her mother and grandfather play pai sho for the thousandth time.

The crowd is thick for an evening. There are lots of people running this way and that, laughing loudly. Store owners are locking up their shops, rattling locks, before joining their families in the street. The crowds press in around Jin, so much so that she occasionally loses sight of Lan. His firm grip is the only thing keeping them together in the growing crowd. Jin has her suspicions about where he’s taking her. Lan has a terrifyingly accurate radar for festivals, parties, or anything that might prove to be fun. She’ll probably stand beside her brother the whole time as he convinces her to buy him yet another sweet treat.

People jostle her from every side. Even though Jin has lived in Ba Sing Se since she was nine, she’s still not used to days like this, where she can hardly hear herself think over the noise of the crowd. It’s overwhelming. But Lan is determined to do whatever it is he’s trying to do, and Jin has babysitting duty tonight. It wouldn’t be responsible for her to let her eleven year-old brother wander the city alone.

He drags her through one last pressing crush of people, into a bustling square. Jin stops as the centre of the square comes into view. There’s a large raised stage in the center, and on it, a large band plays. A persistent beating of drums echoes through the night air like a heartbeat. A few performers are dancing around the stage in elaborate costumes, swirling in beautiful, intricate ways. The crowd, milling about the edges of the square, claps in time to the music. Jin just stares. She hasn’t seen anything like this in years, not since they left home. The dancing, the music… It's all so similar to the yearly spring festival that their town put on. Jin wanted to be one of those dancers, someday. And she had forgotten her dream until now.

“Do you like it?” Lan’s voice is small and worried, and when Jin looks down at the boy, his eyes are wide. Jin lets out a loud laugh and hugs her brother tightly, her eyes brimming with tears. She has no idea how he new that this, of all things, would make her happy.

“I love it.”

“I thought you would,” Lan says, a huge smile lighting up his face. “You said the other day that you hadn’t seen anything extraordinary in a while. A few of the kids in my class were talking about these performers that just came, and so I decided to bring you. I thought it might be extraordinary enough for you.”

“It is,” Jin says, wonder echoing through her tone, as she looks back over at the performers. “It really is.” Lan squeezes her hand, and they stand there, side by side, watching the performance. She hesitates a moment, glancing down at her brother, who seems to be enjoying himself. “Do you mind if we go and sit on the roof of a building? I would love to get a good vantage point to draw this from.”

Lan doesn’t respond, but grins instead. He drags her through crowds and around people once again, to a small set of stairs leading to a roof. They climb them together, and settle themselves down on the worn tiles. Pulling out her sketchbook, Jin draws. And draws. And draws. Lan eventually gets bored, and wanders off to find a treat for the two of them. Jin fills page after page of her book, intending to turn some of her sketches into full drawings, at some point. A watercolour piece of this would look magnificent in her portfolio, a clean contrast to all her charcoal sketches. That is, if she ever has the opportunity to present her portfolio. If it even matters.

Trying to clear those thoughts from her mind, Jin draws, until her back aches and her fingers cramp. Lan eventually forces her to go home, when they’re both yawning and exhausted. Jin feels better than she has in a long time.

Chapter Text

“Welcome to the Blooming Valley Bakery. What can I get for you today?” Jin says, giving the portly man standing across the counter from her a friendly smile. He’s not one of their regulars, and looks like he could be new in town, with his travel-worn clothes and round straw hat. He has a distinct face, marked by clear amber eyes. It’s one that Jin would love to capture. She stares at him a moment too long, cataloging his face into her memory. Looking thoughtfully at the menu above Jin’s head, the man considers.

“Two steamed pork buns, please,” he finally decides, returning Jin’s smile from earlier.

“Anything else?” Jin asks, and the man shakes his head no. Jin references the pricing chart, glancing down once. “That’ll be five copper pieces.” Steamed pork buns are their most popular item, and so they always have them in fresh supply. As she turns around to grab the pork buns from a fresh tray, the man roots around in a small purse of money and places five copper coins on the splintering wooden counter. A delicious scent of warm bread and spiced meat wafts across the sunny shop as Jin begins wrapping up the buns. The man eyes them hungrily, like a man who hasn’t had a hot meal he hasn’t made himself in a long while. Jin smiles. Definitely a refugee. “Are you new around here? I don’t recognize you.”

The man smiles at Jin, in a friendly sort of way. “You’re an observant one. My nephew and I just arrived today, in fact.”

“Refugees have a certain air about them,” Jin says, placing the buns in a small box of thick paper, folding the top as she speaks. “I know how hard it can be to get settled, and so if there’s anything my family or I can do to help you, feel free to come by again.” Smiling kindly, Jin places the box on the counter, sliding them towards him. He gives her another smile.

“I appreciate it, Miss…”

“Jin,” she supplies.

“Miss Jin. My name is Mushi.”

“Nice to meet you, Mushi. I hope to see you around again. And have a lovely first day in Ba Sing Se!” Jin says as he turns to leave the shop. Mushi gives her a small wave, and opens the door, the bell above the door jingling as he leaves.

Jin wilts in the now empty shop, smile dropping from her face. How many more refugees is she going to meet? She can hardly keep track of all of the people she’s encountered over the years, running from the Fire Nation. Her own family is one of those who ran, nowhere to go but behind a thick set of walls. And while it’s said that Ba Sing Se is the safest, most lovely city in the entire Earth Kingdom, a city of dreams, Jin has found that statement to be false. It’s safe from the Fire Nation, but not much else. There’s a reason her older brother gave her a switchblade, and it wasn’t to sharpen pencils. Jin’s life in Ba Sing Se has been defined by struggle and sorrow. How many people trade suffering for suffering without realizing it? And how many more find out that their dreams will never be realized?

Ba Sing Se isn’t paradise, at least not to anyone in the lower ring. It’s a box that keeps evils out, but also prevents even the good people from going anywhere. Jin allows herself to keep dreaming, even though she knows there’s a large chance she’ll never achieve anything. Giving up her dreams means giving up hope, and when she gives up hope, she’ll have nothing left.

Chapter Text

Jin steps into Pao’s teashop, sketchbook tucked under one arm. She has the afternoon off, and doesn’t want to spend it alone in her family’s tiny home. While Pao’s teashop isn’t her first choice to sit and sketch, it’s a Saturday afternoon, and the hilltop tree is bound to be busy. The other teashop Jin frequents is halfway across the lower ring, and she doesn’t feel like an adventure today. And so she finds herself in Pao’s, which serves tea that can barely be qualified as tea.

Stepping into the line to order tea- which is strange, since the place is normally deserted- Jin considers what she’ll have. Yunnan is the most expensive, and Jin definitely can’t afford it. She’s not even sure how Pao gets his hands on it. While both ginseng and mint are more in her price range, Jin is feeling like something a little nicer. Maybe Pao will have figured out how to properly steep jasmine tea by now.

The line inches forward slowly, and after a few minutes, Jin finds herself at the front of the line. There’s a new server, one that Jin doesn’t recognize. He seems to be around her age, and has a large burn scar covering one eye. Jin doesn’t flinch. She’s seen worse.

“Welcome to Pao’s Family Teashop. What can I get for you today?” The boy rasps, staring somewhere just over her head, notebook poised in one hand. Jin bites back a sympathetic smile. She’s been there many, many times, bored out her mind and reciting the same thing over and over. Jin just hopes she sounds a little more engaged.

“I’ll take a jasmine tea, please,” Jin says, already fishing in her pocket for the correct amount of coins. She places them on the counter just as the boy says “that’ll be three copper coins.”

“Oh,” he says, unused to the change in rhythm, then takes the coins and places them in a cash drawer, nodding. “I’ll be over with your tea in a moment.”

Jin picks her way over to an empty table. Plopping down, she opens up her sketchbook, reaching behind her ear and removing the pencil she tucked there. She stares at the drawing she had been working on- a study of an interesting building she had seen the other day- and flips to a new page. Jin just found a much more lovely muse. For the next few minutes, Jin draws the boy at the front counter, trying to capture his bored look. His face is all sharp angles. He’s probably fresh off the ferry, recently arrived in Ba Sing Se. He has the hollow cheeks of a hungry refugee. Closing her eyes, Jin tries to remember what exactly his scar had looked like. It had flared out around his eye. Not an accident, she realizes, and her heart sinks. Someone- an ashmaker- had done that to him on purpose.

“Jin, what a pleasure to see you again!” Startled, Jin opens her eyes to find Mushi standing with a teacup in one hand. He’s wearing the apron that all of Pao’s employees wear, clean and white.

“What a surprise!” Jin says, quickly flipping her sketchbook closed and smiling at him. She hopes he didn’t notice her drawing of his coworker. Or, Jin realizes belatedly, his nephew. Mushi mentioned having a nephew. He places her cup of jasmine tea in front of her, a delicious scent wafting into her nose. A promising sign. “I’m happy you found employment so quickly. Many others aren’t so fortunate.”

Mushi nods wisely. “It’s truly a grace that Pao was in need of a new server and tea maker. It’s always been my wish to work in a tea shop, and it’s a wonderful opportunity for my nephew to learn new skills.”

“Is that your nephew at the counter?” Jin gestures vaguely with her hand, pencil still clutched in her fingers. Mushi nods, smiling.

“Yes. Li seems to be adjusting well to his new position.”

“Has he ever worked in customer service before?”

“No, no. He didn’t have to work for much of his childhood,” Mushi says, and Jin hears what he doesn’t say: Li is completely out of his depth. Jin nods in a sympathetic way.

“My childhood was much the same. The first few months of working at my parent’s bakery was difficult. There are many people in Ba Sing Se who seem to enjoy complaining to you more than they do consuming what they bought, and that I find, is hard to get used to.”

“Very true,” Mushi says, laughing. “Well, I shouldn’t abandon my nephew for too long. Do enjoy your tea.”

“Yes, thank you,” says Jin, as Mushi walks back to the counter. She turns her gaze to her tea, and picking it up, takes a sip. A delighted smile creeps across her face. Pao really has figured out how to properly steep jasmine tea.

Chapter Text

Zuko can’t sleep. He rolls over, trying to settle himself into a more comfortable position on his sleeping mat. Uncle is laying a few feet from him, snoring softly. Zuko has no idea how his uncle can sleep. Their straw sleeping mats are rough, and jabs into Zuko’s bare skin at every opportunity. It’s all he can feel. Zuko shifts again, blanket twisting around his legs uncomfortably. Kicking at it, he manages to dislodge the blanket, and lies on his mat, splayed out. He stares at the ceiling, trying to count the floorboards. Maybe it’ll help him sleep. It’s better than counting imaginary koalasheep, because the floorboards are right over his head. He takes deep, measured breaths as he does so, regulating his breathing.

Someone stomps across the apartment above them, the ceiling shuddering. Zuko lets out a huff of frustration and rolls over on his side. He just can’t sleep in this agni-foresaken city, with his straw sleeping mat poking into him and restless neighbors and air that feels as thick as a second skin and children crying from across the complex and Uncle’s snores from beside him and the thick scent of flowers coming from the fresh bouquet Uncle brought home earlier in the day. It’s oppressive, all these feelings and sounds and scents, and it’s like he’s drowning. Or maybe it's more like the whole world is trying to bury him under ten feet of rock. They feel similar; you’re helpless and dying in both. Biting his tongue, Zuko tries to ignore the feeling, the weight pressing down on his chest. He should be trying to sleep. But his instincts grab a hold of him, and he finds himself rolling out of bed and moving towards the window. To the outside, with precious fresh air and a night sky as expansive as the sea. Zuko misses the soothing rocking of the Wani with a fierce ache, even after all this time.

Zuko scales the side of the apartment complex with relative ease, finding his way to the roof. He steps up the slanted roof tiles and onto the wide, flat portion at the apex. Looking up at the moon, he takes in a deep breath. It’s quiet up here, and a playful wind rustles his clothing. The city is almost beautiful from this perspective. Zuko can’t see the poverty that scars Ba Sing Se’s streets. No half naked children or burned refugees, no refuse or crumbling buildings. Just green roof tiles, moonlight glancing off of them, making them look like jewels.

Sitting down, Zuko folds into himself. Chin on his hands, he continues looking at the moon- at Yue, Uncle had told him her name was, who sacrificed herself to save them all. She had only been sixteen. Like him. Zuko tears his gaze away, stomach roiling. If he hadn’t offered Zhao mercy all those months ago, Yue, the crew of the Wani, and all the other people who had died in the invasion of the North would still be alive. Waves of guilt crash into him, and the pressure on his chest begins building again. Because it’s his fault. It’s always his fault. It’s Zuko’s fault his mother left, because he hadn’t been good enough for his grandfather. And it’s Zuko’s fault his father burned him, because he didn’t have enough sense to stay quiet. And it’s Zuko’s fault Azula betrayed him, because he left her just like their mother had.

The sky seems huge now, large enough to swallow him whole. Not lulling or calming like the ocean. Shivering, Zuko tucks his knees up to his chest, and places his forehead on them. He tries taking deep, even breaths, like Uncle taught him, but his chest is tight. Too tight. Zuko’s breaths are uneven, and relent into gasping sobs. Tears roll down from his good eye. He’s shaking, whether from guilt or sorrow, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that everything is his fault. And now, even the moon knows his shame, shining down in soft moonbeams. He sits there for a long time, attempting to regulate his breathing. It’s not until the moon has reached her apex that he gathers enough strength to stand. Zuko’s chest is still tight and heavy, and it still feels like the whole sky is staring at him, but he can now, at least, breathe. Eyes flicking over the sleeping city one last time, Zuko climbs back down to his and Uncle’s apartment. Sleep will not come easy tonight. And if even the night air could not cure him of his shame, Zuko doesn’t know what will.

Chapter Text

Hanging up her work apron on a hook in the back of the bakery, Jin rests her head on the wall. It's been a long morning. She has an hour of respite before she has to return irritated customers, the stress of burnt goods, and forced smiles. Taking in a steadying breath, Jin leaves the shop, grabbing her money purse on the way out. She steps into the narrow alley behind the bakery. The cobblestones under her feet are rough and uneven, and she watches her step carefully. Entering out onto the main street, Jin takes a deep breath, feeling liberated. She adjusts the strap of her satchel and sets out with a brisk pace towards Pao’s Teashop.

Jin has been spending plenty of time at the teashop recently. The tea is better than anywhere else in the lower ring by far, and interesting people are always wandering in and out. And not to forget Li, Mushi’s nephew, who Jin hasn’t been able to stop drawing. She can’t quite get his expression right, but not for lack of trying. His face has been hovering in the back of her mind for the past few weeks, as a difficult project always does. Perhaps today is the day she’ll finally get it right.

The walk from her parent’s bakery to the teashop isn’t a long one, only fifteen minutes. The city is alive and bustling, and as she makes her way there, she briefly stops to talk to several people she has come to know over the past few years. It’s decidedly much better than sitting in her family’s apartment, pitying herself. When she steps into Pao’s teashop, she’s not terribly surprised to find it full of people. Mushi- who, Jin has discovered, is the mastermind behind the new and improved tea- has helped Pao’s Teashop gain renown. Jin doesn’t mind. Mushi does make fantastic tea.

When it’s Jin’s turn to order, she’s greeted by a nod from Li. He doesn’t seem to be interested in talking to her or becoming acquainted, even though Jin comes into the teashop regularly. While he’s definitely not his uncle, Li has the good grace to not be cold towards her. Waiting, he lifts his pencil to write her order. Li never gives her the greeting anymore. Jin supposes he’s tired of reciting it, which she can sympathize with.

“I’ll have a cup of ginseng tea, today,” Jin decides, already fishing out the proper two coppers for payment, along with another copper as a tip. When she places the coins on the counter, Li raises an eyebrow at the extra coin.

“Ginseng is only two coins,” says Li, pushing the coin across the counter at her. Jin pushes the coin back, smiling.

“It’s a tip. For you.”

Li nods, as it’s the most serious matter in the world. “I see. Uncle will be over with your tea in a moment.” Jin gives a wave as she walks away from the counter, and tucks herself into her regular corner table.

Mushi has taken to serving Jin her tea himself. It’s become a nice tradition, exchanging a small conversation with the older man whenever she comes in. Jin rifles through her sketchbook, looking for an empty page. She’s careful not to draw Li when Mushi might see. It’s not because she thinks he might judge her for it, but because it’s slightly embarrassing. And so instead of risking embarrassment, Jin draws the people standing in the line. There’s a tiny child clutching at their parent’s tunic, a pair of kids only a few years older than Lan, and a stooped older woman who runs a flower shop just down the street. It makes for a pedestrian sketch, but it’s good practice, and so Jin keeps at it, at least until Mushi comes with her tea. He appears after not too long, offering a steaming cup of ginseng tea.

“How are you today?” Mushi asks as Jin takes the cup.

“Much better now that I’ve got some tea,” Jin replies, smiling. Mushi laughs in response, nodding sagely.

“Life is always better with tea.”

“Especially your tea, it never ceases to delight. How do you get it to taste so good?”

Winking, Mushi settles himself on the chair across from Jin. “Trade secret, I’m afraid. But I can tell you how Pao used to make it, and from that, I’m sure you can gather what not to do.”

“I would be honoured,” Jin says, closing her sketchbook, and preparing herself for a pleasant conversation.

Chapter Text

“And that’s how Nuwa beat me,” Lan finishes, kicking at a rock protruding from the cobblestones. He isn’t upset- not truly- but frustrated. Lan and Nuwa have been engaging in a friendly rivalry for a few years, but they’ve always been equally matched. This is the fourth match in a row that Lan has lost.

Jin lets out a small hmm. “Frustrating. Do you want me to draw propaganda against her?” Lan stares at her for a moment, then laughs loudly. Grinning in response, Jin continues on. “We could put posters up around your school. The teachers might try to blame you, though?”

“I would pass the blame off to you,” Lan cackles. Jin joins in, laughing loudly. For the rest of their walk, she proposes ideas for their propaganda, Lan making suggestions here and there.

They make it to the large park in only a few minutes, and relish the open space as they step out of the adjacent neighbourhood. The park is quiet this afternoon. There’s a couple having a picnic, a group of children flying homemade kites, and several people scattered around the yellow grass, sitting by themselves. Lan breaks away from her, and hurtles across the grass, eager to arrive at the makeshift earthbending arena hidden on the other side of the hill. Jin drags behind, taking deep breaths of fresh air and observing the people in the park. She’s always looking for a new muse. Watching a boy stooped over a scroll, tries to casually observe him as she walks by. Jin doesn’t want to be too creepy. The boy seems young, maybe her age, and his pose intrigues her. He’s so engrossed, reading with a passion that’s almost palpable. But when the boy looks up, contemplating a passage, she realizes that she knows him. It’s Li.

“Li, how good to see you,” Jin says, ignoring the stab of interest in her chest. There’s a hidden depth to him, and she suspects that reading is the least of it. Eyes widening, Li jumps to his feet, leaving the scroll forgotten on the ground.

“Uh. Yes, hello.” His eyes- golden, she realizes belatedly, and she curses herself for not noticing earlier- flick across her face. Jin suspects he’s trying to understand why in the world she’s talking to him. They’ve barely interacted, even with her spending so much time in the teashop.

“You like to read?” She asks, gesturing at the discarded scroll. Li looks down, as if surprised to see it there.

“I suppose I do,” Li replies, swallowing, “but it isn’t very good.”

“Jin! What are you doing?” Lan’s voice cuts across the park, as clear as church bells. Li’s head snaps around to find the source of the noise, hand flying to his hip. Jin carefully catalogues that piece of information for later use, not caring to think about what it might mean.

As Lan runs up to them, cheeks flushed, Jin explains. “My younger brother, Lan. He’s somewhat of a menace.” Li makes a small noise of agreement, and she can’t tell whether it means he has a younger sibling, or if it’s because he agrees with the fact Lan is a menace. Either works. Lan stumbles to a stop beside Jin, puffing. He regards Li with interest, sizing him up.

“Who are you?”

“Li.”

“From the tea shop,” Jin clarifies, as she and her brother collectively know enough Lis to fill an entire village with. Lan’s eyes widen, and a delighted smile creeps across his face. Jin bites back a sigh. She knows exactly where this is going.

“You know,” Lan says, grinning, “My sister loves going to the teashop. She draws y-” Jin elbows her brother sharply in the ribs, and letting out a gasp and clutching at his side, he stops talking. Li watches the interaction, eyes narrowed, but he seems unperturbed. Perhaps it’s more evidence for him having siblings.

“Lan was just saying that the teashop is a great place to draw, what with everyone coming in and out. And besides, your uncle makes delicious tea.”

“Yes, Uncle does make good tea,” Li says, without much enthusiasm. Jin gets the sense that he isn’t as passionate about tea as his uncle is. Wanting to continue the conversation, she flounders for a topic, but Li gets there first. “I shouldn’t keep you. You probably want to get to whatever you were doing here.”

“Don’t worry about it. Watching Lan earthbend isn’t terribly invigorating.”

“He’s a bender?” Li asks, with slight surprise. His eyes flick over Lan, as if trying to find some physical evidence.

“I’m the best in my school.”

“Or so you like to think,” Jin laughs, ruffling her brother’s hair. Lan shoots her a glare, mostly jokingly. Turning towards Li, she asks: “You’re not a bender, are you?”

“No,” he says, swallowing, “I’m not. And if you’ll excuse me, I should be going home now.”

“Of course! Don’t let us keep you,” Jin replies. He nods, picks up his scroll, and departs. Giving him a friendly wave, Jin smiles. He doesn’t offer one back, but gives her a formal nod, and walks off in the other direction, strides long. Lan watches him go, sniffing indignantly.

“I have no idea why you like that guy so much. He’s rude.”

Jin loops her arm around her brother’s. “He’s hurting,” Jin says, guiding them towards the earthbending ring. “And he’s lonely, just like I was when we first moved here. I want to remind him that even though life is hard, and very different, there’s still happiness to be found.”

Chapter Text

Push and turn. Push and turn. Push and turn. Jin fights to keep her mind on task as she kneads bread. It’s early morning, the sun just breaking over the horizon- where you can see the horizon, mind you- and she’s exhausted. Instead of sleeping the previous night, Jin had spent her evening drawing, a precious candle slowly burning down. And now she’s paying the price. Her grandmother works beside her, humming a sweet little tune that Jin recognizes from her childhood. But she has neither breath nor investment to hum along, and so she works in silence. Push and turn. Push and turn. Push and turn.

When the bread is elastic enough to her liking, she begins splitting the dough into smaller pieces to make buns. Her grandmother’s buns are all even, perfectly shaped and round. Jin’s are more uneven, some larger and some smaller. Jin curses these early Thursday mornings, when her parents go out to haggle for more flour and yeast. Her grandmother always insists that they work in the back together, even though her grandfather is a much better baker than she is. But the old woman insists that Jin needs to learn the family craft, and there’s not much that can be done to resist her.

Heat wafts up from the ovens as Jin sets four trays of buns beside them, letting them proof in the heat. They’ll rise better than they would otherwise, and even though her grandmother has explained it more times than she can count, Jin still doesn’t understand why. Yawning, she leans back against the counter, watching her grandmother assess some bread loaves.

“Why don’t you take your grandfather some tea, love,” Jin’s grandmother says, noting her sightless stare. “You must be tired.”

Jin gives a small smile, and makes her way to the teapot in the corner of the shop. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she says, taking two chipped cups and the pot. They both know that Jin won’t be back in a minute, but will spend as much time as she can chatting with her grandfather and any customers who come in.

The front of the shop is sunny and warm, with large windows, whitewashed walls, and several watercolour paintings of Jin’s hung up on the walls. Jin’s grandfather, Shen, is handing over a box of baked goods to a customer, lined face friendly. Stepping up beside him, Jin pours a cup of tea and hands it over to him wordlessly. They stand in silence until the next customer comes, sipping tea in companionable silence. Helping box up an order of teacakes, tarts and dumplings- a strange combination, to be sure- Jin finally feels helpful. Shen deals with the coins, and the woman leaves a generous tip. When the bell above the door jangles again, Jin is surprised to see Li standing in the doorway. He freezes for a moment, recognizing Jin, but swallows and walks over to the counter.

“Morning, Li,” Jin offers. Even after their meeting in the park, Li hasn’t been any warmer or friendlier than usual. He still barely acknowledges her presence in the teashop. Jin can’t blame him. Running from your past, whether voluntary or not, is harder than it seems. Adjusting to a new life is nearly impossible.

“Good morning,” he says, deliberately casting his gaze above Jin and Shen’s head at the menu written there. Biting her tongue, Jin stands in silence. While Li seems entirely uninterested in friendship, she’ll keep being kind. It’ll make the transition to living in Ba Sing Se easier, at least.

Shen looks between the pair of them, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Do you two know each other?”

“Sure do. He’s Mushi’s nephew, the one who works at Pao’s teashop?”

Li blinks a little in surprise, and tearing his gaze away from the menu, finally notices Shen. “Jin comes in quite frequently. And I’ll get four dumplings, please.”

Surprised by Li’s lack of interest in small talk, Shen gestures for Jin to pack up Li’s order while he takes the money and peppers Li with pointless questions, attempting to pry a little more information out of him. Listening intently, Jin learns that Li’s father had been a sailor and he was from a small town near one of the colonies. Li’s golden eyes add up more now.

As Jin slides the box over the counter, she gives an exaggerated wink. “Never guessed you’d be the customer, did you?” Her tone is light and teasing, and she hopes it won’t come across as rude. To her surprise, Li’s cheeks pink slightly. Eyes averted, he swallows.

“I don’t suppose I did,” he says, and after a moment’s hesitation, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few coppers. With a slight smile- the first Jin has seen out of him- he places them on the counter. “A tip. For you.”

A laugh bubbles out of Jin’s mouth as she accepts them. Unsure what to say, Li turns to leave. As he’s walking out the door, she speaks. “Thank you! And have a great day,” she adds, hoping it’s enough for an offer of friendship. He nods, smile still lingering. The bell above the door jingles behind him. Looking down at the coins, Jin smiles once again and places them in the tip jar.

“I like that one,” Shen says, startling Jin out of her thoughts. “He’s a keeper.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

Chapter Text

Ba Sing Se is naught but ash. As Jin walks through familiar city streets, tiny, delicate skulls crunch beneath her feet. It’s the only sound she can hear. Revulsion rolls through her body at each step she takes, but her feet seem possessed, unable to stop moving forward.

Stone buildings tower over her, strangely tall, stretching nearly to the clouds. The buildings are scorched black with fire and smoke. Red paints the sky, nearly blood-like, stained with smoke and fire. The rumble of marching echoes down the street, the back of Jin’s neck prickling. Spinning, she sees an army of giant-like ashmakers advancing on her from down the street. Their armor is the red of spilled blood and decorated with stolen Earth Kingdom gold, and their cruel faces are twisted into cold smiles. They know that Jin is as good as dead. Heart pounding, Jin turns heel and races down maze-like streets, her surroundings quickly becoming unfamiliar and alien. Burnt bodies line the twisting streets, and distantly, she can hear a child screaming for mercy. Panting, Jin turns down a street with towering buildings, desperately searching for some form of shelter. Halfway down the street, a warehouse advertises for Pao’s Family Tea Shop. Relief flooding her veins, Jin bursts in through the over-large door.

“The ashmakers! They’re coming for us, we’ve got to hide,” she shouts, clutching at her heaving chest. Mushi, Li and the patrons of the teashop have their backs turned. Blinking, Jin stills. They’re all unresponsive. “Hello?” she asks, stepping forward and touching a woman’s shoulder.

The woman turns, and along with the other patrons, her clothes burst into flame. Jin yanks her hand back, mouth dry. Mushi turns next, his hair alight. Taking a few steps back, her heart starts racing once again. Li is the last to turn, and as he does, Jin sees that half his face burning with undying, bright white fire. He’s screaming, falling on his knees before her. Hands going to her mouth, Jin swallows down vomit. Li looks so vulnerable, so childlike, so innocent. He’s begging, begging for mercy, begging for his life. And he’s staring at her like she can end the pain. As Jin stumbles back out the door, she recognizes his voice as what she had thought was a child’s earlier. The street offers no protection from the horrors. Ash covers the ground, and she slips, falling on her back, more bones crunching under her. Her hand connects with something that feels awfully like human flesh. With cold laughs, the ashmakers surround her, hands bright with the same fire that covered Li’s eye. The fire draws closer and closer, accompanied by the chilling laughs, and Jin curls up into a ball. The heat grows and grows and grows. Jin is so hot that her veins feel like they’re boiling.

Hot, salty tears roll down her face, and Jin shakes, whole body convulsing. Slowly, her mind adjusts to reality, and her room comes into focus around her. It was just a dream. But she remains curled up, sobbing as quietly as possible. She still can’t shake the feeling of being burned alive, her skin crisping and her blood boiling. But the dream isn’t an unfamiliar one- too often has Jin visited a world of smoke and bright white fire. Too often has she watched her loved ones die, killed by ashmakers. Too often has she seen her world reduced to gray ash and crunching bone.

Sucking in deep breaths, Jin tries to steady herself. She reminds herself of reality, feeling the rough weave of her bankets twisted up beneath her, the wood floors smoothed by years of wear under her palm, and the slight kiss of the crisp spring breeze cooling the sweat and tears coating her skin. Scrubbing at her face, Jin sits up, listening for sounds of either Lan or Tai stirring. Soft snoring drifts through the fabric barriers. Releasing a pent-up breath, Jin leans back against the wall. Her head is still full of ash, smoke and fire. Still full of heat and death and pain. Still full of horrors she can’t put into words.

After a moment of simply staring into the dark, breathing out the fear, Jin reaches for the candles she keeps in constant supply beside her sleeping mat, and lights one with a spark rock. The wick catches easily, and a soft glow emits from a gentle orange flame, unlight the bright white fire of her nightmares. Soothed by the flame, Jin flips open her sketchbook to an empty page. Instead of fruitlessly trying to explain her nightmares to her family or friends, the horrors that exist only in her own mind, Jin draws. The charcoal pencil glides across the paper, and thoughtlessly, she sketches the twisted Ba Sing Se of her dream. The towering buildings, scorched black with fire, and bones and ash littering the street. The white paper transforms into a world of terror. The world that exists only in her own mind. Jin doesn’t want to live there anymore.

Chapter Text

Early mornings in Ba Sing Se are crisp. They remind Jin of home- home still being the village she left too many years ago to count, where she would wake with her parents before dawn broke, watching the sun slowly creep over the horizon. She would always wrap a thick handmade quilt around her shoulders and inevitably a cup of tea would find its way into her hands. The memory, not quite lost to time, drifts at the back of Jin’s mind as she steps out of the back of the bakery into a city still shrouded in predawn darkness. Instead of a blanket, her mother’s coat is draped over her, and in her hands is a sketchbook and a pen. And this time, she is alone, alone in a city that is never still.

As she winds her way out onto the street, where the smell of last night’s rain nearly overpowers the constant smell of refuse, Jin allows her mind to wander. Last night, in her nightmare, this street had seemed monstrous and alien. Nearly deadly. Shrouded in shadow, it still doesn’t look like its usual self, but it’s better. Not evil or haunting or damming. The familiarity of it all calms her.

Making her way to a larger thoroughfare, Jin finds the city unusually sleepy. A few merchants are setting up shop on the side of the road, and a few windows are lit with lamplight, and the street is quiet and resting. Jin, like most of the rest of Ba Sing Se’s residents, is normally asleep at this time of the morning. Pre-dawn is a time of spirits and myth, set aside for dreams and the occasional spiritually minded waterbender dancing with the moon. Every good Earth Kingdom citizen values sleep and ignores religion. It’s simply the way of life here. And so, in a city asleep, Jin’s footfalls are the loudest noise she can hear. Thankfully, they only resonate with the sound of boots hitting stone, but Jin can’t get the echo of crunching bone out of her head.

Mind still full of the horrors of the previous night, Jin’s feet carry her to the park in the center of the Lower Ring. She startles when she arrives, not realizing what destination she had in mind. Tension floods out of her body as she crosses over onto the grass. There are very few places in the entirety of Ba Sing Se’s Lower Ring that remind her of home, but this is one of them. Even with its curated nature, the simple wildness and expanse of the park is calming. True nature is rare in a city as big as Ba Sing Se. The long, yellowing grass is still wet with last night’s rain, sparkling with the last of the moonlight stretching down from the heavens. The park smells of earth and spring, soothing and clean. Even the faint songs of cicadas can be heard.

Smile spearing across Jin’s face, she makes her way across the grass, coat becoming damper by the second. The rational part knows that her mother will be angry about Jin getting her coat all wet, but the sense of unbridled freedom is worth it. The park is so wide, so empty, so beautiful. Her breaths are finally coming slow and deep, and the tension in her jaw releases. Her walk quickly turns into a jog, and that jog into a run. Sprinting across the grass, Jin laughs wildly. There’s nothing horrible here, no ashmakers or fire or bones. Just a dark, empty sky, and swaying grass. As she crests the hill, chest heaving, Jin stares over the city, searching the hazy morning mist for any familiar streets. But the city is an indecipherable monolith, and if Jin squints hard enough, she can pretend it isn’t even there.

Movement catches the corner of her eye, and she turns towards it. There’s someone else in the park. While she shouldn’t feel so protective of public property, Jin is somewhat disgruntled that someone else is awake and in her domain at this hour of the morning. But as she stares at the other person, she recognizes the long, confident strides. Li walks closer to her, up the hill, staring distractedly at the sky. In his hands are a pair of dao swords, loosely held. Jin grins. She never would have taken Li for a morning person.

“Li!” Jin shouts, waving her hand enthusiastically in the air. Startled, he turns towards her. It takes him a moment, but eventually, he lifts a hand in response. Jin doesn’t venture closer, and neither does Li. There’s a reason they’re both here, in a quiet park before dawn, and it isn’t to make awkward small talk. Li turns and continues trudging through the grass, evidently searching for a more private spot to run through forms. Watching him go, Jin smiles softly. She’s glad she isn’t the only one whose nightmares keep them awake.

Chapter Text

The nightmare comes again. Zuko can’t seem to get fire out of his head, of burning, of screaming, of begging- of his father standing over him like a demon and laughing at his pain. Sweat coats his skin, chilling him, but Zuko can still feel the fire blazing his skin, and everything around him is too hot, choking and smothering, and his lungs are tight and he can’t breathe and can’t get enough air-

Sitting up, Zuko sucks in huge heaving gasps of air, pinching his own arms for a sense of reality. Uncle snores loudly on the palette beside him. Through the green-shuttered window, Zuko can just faintly hear some tavern-goers heading home for the night, voices loud and raucous. But even with the whole world steady and real and constant around him, the fire still won’t leave. It fills his head and he aches for an escape.

An escape. With a glance at window, Zuko realizes that it’s a few hours before dawn, that most of the city will be asleep. Even with the quiet streets, Zuko doesn’t trust Ba Sing Se not to reveal that he’s a firebender- or an ashmaker, as they so adamantly call them- but he can still run through his dao forms. Blades have always been more comfortable than fire, anyway.

And so, with a steadying breath, he grabs his dao swords and climbs out the window and onto the city’s rooftops. As Zuko glances across what he can see of the Lower Ring, mist obscuring most of it, his eyes snag on the large park that he enjoys spending his afternoons off in. It’ll be abandoned at this hour of the morning. With a few tentative steps forward, Zuko takes a running leap across to the next rooftop. His momentum carries him forward, and he races across rooftop after rooftop, enjoying the sensation of wind whipping his hair and fresh air filling his lungs. Even though firebenders rise with the sun, there’s something exhilarating about sneaking through the night. It’s almost as if he’s a character in one of his theatre scrolls with some grand destiny, or a vigilante on a revenge plot. Not some hapless, banished prince, a lonely boy who still wakes up in the middle of the night screaming from a nightmare.

Getting to the park takes far less time than Zuko thinks it will, but he supposes travelling over rooftops is a slightly more effective route than the maze-like streets he would’ve otherwise taken. As he clambers off the final building, Zuko can feel his muscles release all the tension they’ve been holding over the past few days- or weeks, really. The park is quiet except for the soft thrumming of cicadas in the grass. A rare smile creeps across his face as Zuko walks further into the park. He trails a hand along the top of the wet grass before removing his bades from their sheathes. With a few experimental swipes, he readjusts himself to their weight in his hands. Glancing around, Zuko determines that the grass is too long here, and he would be better suited for practice elsewhere. He begins trudging up the hill, where he would have a good vantage of the whole park in addition to a better practice space.

“Li!” A voice stops him in his tracks as his muscles prepare him for a fight. As Zuko searches for the other person in the park- someone who knows who he is- his eyes stumble across a femenine figure waving enthusiastically. He picks out a long green dress and two distinctive braids, and Zuko sighs in relief. It’s only Jin. He lifts up a hand in response, and briskly walks in the other direction, away from her. He didn’t come to the park to sweat under the girl’s piercing gaze- everytime they talk, Zuko feels like she’s inspecting him like a particularly interesting specimen in a lab. But no second shout echoes at his back. It’s possible she came here to be alone, as well. Whatever the reason, it puts him a little more at ease concerning her. And when Zuko finally reaches a good spot to practice, a little valley tucked behind the hill, he runs through his forms without a thought of worry crossing his mind. He knows Jin will be standing sentinel on the hill, and even though he can’t trust her completely, two eyes looking out are better than one.

Chapter Text

The sun is hot, and Jin is happier than she’s been in a long time. The bakery had been quiet that morning, and her grandmother had told Jin to take as long a break as she wished. While she won’t idle away the entire morning, Jin plans to linger a little longer at Pao’s than she normally does. Her fingers have been itching to draw. A few days ago, she had been pursuing the small, digny, but graciously public library, and had stumbled across a fantastical image of water tribe spirits. There had been a drawing inspired by it floating at the back of Jin’s mind, but she hadn’t had any time to put pencil to paper. There’s no crowd milling about outside the teashop, and with any luck, it’ll be as empty as the teashop.

Small green plants are sprouting from the cracks of the uneven cobblestones beside the foundation of the teashop, and the sky the blue of precious gems Jin won’t ever be able to afford. A faint wind is carrying warm, salty air from the bay. Ba Sing Se feels full of possibilities.

There’s something a little different about the teashop when Jin steps in. It might be the freshly whitewashed walls, faint soapy smell in the air, or clean floors, but Li’s laughter is what catches Jin’s attention. His smile is wide, and Jin wishes she could capture it in a bottle and keep it forever. He’s beautiful- almost poetic- when he smiles. He’s the sort of muse artists spend their lives searching for. Jin approaches the counter slowly, not wanting to break the moment between Li and his uncle. But like the dusk is only golden for a brief moment, the smile fades even before she can reach him.

“What can I get for you today?” Li asks, and for the first time, he’s not monotone. Mushi is still chuckling from somewhere in the kitchen. Jin considers the menu behind the counter, written in large and slightly sloppy Earth Kingdom characters, in the Ba Sing Se dialect. Even after living in the city for almost a decade, they’re still a little foreign.

“I’ll get the jasmine,” she decides, reaching for her coin purse. Digging out the required four coppers, she finds Mushi already pushing a steaming teacup across the rough wooden counter.

He chuckles heartily. “The customer before you ordered jasmine as well. It’s fresh, I promise.”

“All the more convenient for me,” says Jin, placing the coins on the counter and taking the teacup and saucer. It’s the chipped green and white one she likes, with little pink flowers. It looks nearly identical to the cups that used to sit in their cupboards back home, dainty and sweet and carrying the stories of everyone who came before her.

As she turns around, ready to sit down, Jin notices someone sitting at her usual corner table. It’s a boy roughly her age, with spiky hair and mismatched clothing that somehow works together. He’s oddly familiar, but Jin has met plenty of people in the bakery. She’s about to turn to find another table when it hits her. The hair, the thoughtful expression, the eyebrows.

“Jet,” she whispers, too quietly for anyone to hear. He’s been dead for the past eight years, living only as a phantom in her mind. She lost the boy that she grew up with, the boy who she teased relentlessly about his many crushes, the boy that once stole her left shoe off her foot without her even noticing, the boy that she got sick off of sweet, sticky candies with, the boy that she had thought she would never see again. When her family had gone back to the village and found it in ashes and ruin, Jin had run around screaming Jet’s name, hoping that somehow he was still alive. All she had found was the precious little badgermole toy his mother had made out of fabric scraps that had been around as long either of them could remember. It still sits in her room, comfortable beside her money box. She had refused to bury it, even though their family had disposed of most of the dead’s possessions that way. It’s the last thing she has left of him.

But somehow, against all odds, Jet is sitting at her table in Pao’s Family teashop, looking as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. Jin’s limbs weaken, and a great sob escapes her lips as she collapses to the floor. She loses grip on the teacup, but before it can shatter on the floor, Li is somehow beside her, half-spilled cup gripped in his hand. His mouth opens, but before he could speak, a chair scrapes in the corner of the room. Jet runs over and kneels down before her, dark eyes searching her face, just as curious as she remembers, but somehow sharper, more intense.

“Jin?” he says, voice trembling, and it’s all she can do to nod. “By the spirits,” he says, a tear slipping down his face.

“I thought you were dead,” Jin whispers. Jet laughs, shaky and unsure.

“Here I am.” There’s a sort of nervous twitch to him, a bit like a frightened rabaroo. His eyes are still flicking over her face, though full of unshed tears. Jin laughs and pulls him into a hug. The contact surprises him, but he melts into it, letting out the emotion he’s been holding in. They’re both crying, in large, heaving sobs.

Jet pulls away after a moment or two, scrubbing at his face. Jin does the same, her smile wide, and laughter mixing with the tears. “I’m glad you’re alive,” she says, unable to look away, to scrutinize all the things that might be different about him. Everything that's changed.

A smile, one similar to the wicked grin she knew as a small child, crosses Jet’s face. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Jet is sitting at her kitchen table. His hands rest on the rough grain of the wood, crudely made by Bao when they had first arrived in Ba Sing Se. He’s laughing at something Lan said, eyes lighting up. He’s here, across from her, real. Not just a dream. Jin can hardly wrap her mind around it, not when she’s spent eight years missing her best friend.

Beside him sit two kids, one fourteen and silent, the other maybe a year or two younger, with a piercing gaze who carries an air of authority that Jin doesn’t want to cross. They’re Jet’s family now, the only ones he has left. Jin likes them. Longshot doesn’t need to speak to explain how he’s feeling, and Smellerbee has more sense than the two others combined. From what she’s gathered about the past eight years, they’ve kept Jet alive, and for that, she’ll be forever grateful. But the story they’re telling is full of holes. Jin wants to push, wants to understand just what happened to steal the light from Jet’s eyes, but there are some stories that are better kept uncovered. He’s not ready, and Jin understands that. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Jin?” Jet says, knocking her out of her reverie. She smiles, wide and so utterly false, and hopes he can’t tell. “Thank you.” His smile is genuine, and his eyes haven’t lost the twinkle from the laughter of a few moments ago. She doesn’t ask for what, but she can guess. What Jet has told her of his past hasn’t seemed peaceful- taking care of a group of ragtag children, staving the Fire Nation off their land, and travelling across large swathes of the Earth Kingdom- and this is the opposite. While her family isn’t perfect, they know exactly what it’s like to have to run from home. Jin knows acutely the pain that ashmakers perpetuate. It’s the least she can do to invite Jet and his friends into her home. And the smile that he’s giving her is reward enough.

Lan loudly asks Smellerbee about why she left her vigilante life for Ba Sing Se, and Jet stiffens. Smellerbee glances at him, eyes cautious, and doesn’t reply until she sees his small nod. “We realized we were doing more harm than good,” she says, turning towards Lan with a bitter smile. She’s so young to have that much sadness in her eyes. “And besides, the avatar may or may not have recommended it.”

“The avatar?” Lan gasps, eyes going as wide as saucers. Smellerbee laughs and tells him everything she knows about him, a young airbender. Jin wants to listen as well, to regain some hope that peace might eventually come. But Jet’s eyes, dark and burning, draw her away. He’s staring determinedly at the grain of the tabletop, absentmindedly holding his teacup. It’s all Jin can do to not drag him out of the room, to shake him until he tells her exactly what the avatar did to him to make him fade into his memories. But she won’t, because he deserves to tell her in his own time. His story is his own, and even with all the history they share, Jet owes her absolutely nothing. It still hurts, hurts because she doesn’t understand but longs to. Her life seems full of broken boys, whose sorrows and aches are far deeper than Jin knows.

This new Jet, with fire in his eyes and blades as sharp as his tongue, reminds her of Li. They know each other, though Li’s wariness towards her best friend is indication enough that they’re not close. But Jet likes him, and when Jin brought him up earlier, he seemed determined enough to become friends with him. Between the two of them, he’ll ease up a little. Hopefully she can help someone through their sorrows. Maybe it’ll help her with hers.

Jet looks up at her suddenly, eyes fixated on her face. “Does the avatar give you hope?” he asks, voice quiet. Jin swallows, not looking away. How she wants to, to not have to bear his scrutiny and intensity. But she owes him this much. And she knows the answer he needs to hear, to assuage the fear in his eyes.

“Yes.”

“He’s a good kid.” There’s fondness in his tone, fondness and sheer sorrow. He smiles at the table, expression utterly helpless. “He’ll end this war.”

Chapter Text

The sun is touching the horizon, and Jin is practically bouncing with excitement. With two newcomers to Ba Sing Se on her hands, she has a perfect excuse to dump Lan on Tai for an evening and revisit her favourite haunts. Winding her way through crowded streets, Jet and Li follow in her wake, listening to her endless stories. Jet laughs and smiles in all the right places, but Li is generally silent. It was only under duress- and a little needling from his uncle- that she and Jet managed to convince him to come with them on an evening out. They’re headed to the small outdoor theatre located a short distance from Jin’s favourite noodle house. Where they’re going is a surprise, and she can feel both Jet and Li’s wariness. But they follow along anyway.

Eventually, they stumble onto a main thoroughfare, where strings of lanterns are hung by the side of the road, illuminating the night. A large crowd of people flow in either direction. Force of habit compels Jin to grab Jet and Li’s hands and drag them onward, behind her. She tries not to notice the way Li flinches, then flushes immediately after. With equal skill she ignores the way Jet squeezes her hand like a lifeline. They’re both broken, she reminds herself. You’re doing all you can. But how she wishes she could do more. If Jin could light up Li’s eyes the way his uncle can, she would do it. If she could restore the wholeness that once lived inside Jet, she would do it. If she could erase the fire, ash, and bone that lives in her own mind, she would do it. But Jin can’t, so she does all she knows how to: distract.

Once they’re back on the side streets, Jin releases their hands. Li breathes an audible sigh of relief, and immediately shoves his hands into his pockets. Unable to resist teasing him, Jin speaks:

“Am I really that despisable?” she says, smile flashing across her face. Li’s ears redden, and his gaze shoots to the ground. His mouth forms unspoken words for a few seconds before Jin puts him out of his misery. “You look cute when you’re flustered.” Li looks as if he wants to melt into the ground, face glowing as red as a home-grown tomato. Jet laughs loudly and claps him on the shoulder, and as they continue on their way. He tells Li all about Jin’s childhood teasing. A glowing warmth spreads through Jin, as comfortable as homemade vegetable and noodle soup. There’s comfort in this, with a friend she thought she would never see again and a boy who she doesn’t know if she’ll ever truly know.

And then they arrive at their destination: the outdoor amphitheater. As they step out of the grungy alleyway that brought them here, Li lets out a small gasp. Both Jin and Jet glance over at him, and find him grinning. Jin blinks. She was worried that this might not be the best idea, with Jet and Li’s wariness. But the light in Li’s eyes eases her apprehension. In fact, it’s the best she could ask for. It’s rare to see Li even content, much less excited. A grin creeps up Jin’s face.

“You like theatre?” Jet asks, teasing smile on his face. He swings an arm around Li, who flinches, but doesn’t pull away. Idly, Jin contemplates thoroughly beating up whoever gave him that instinct.

Li swallows and looks at the ground. “Yeah, I do. My mom used to take me,” he says, voice thick with something dangerously close to tears. Jet’s smile falls, and he steps away. Jin, conversely, steps forward and grabs his hand. Giving him her brightest smile, she pulls him forward once again.

“Then what’s stopping us? Let’s go and have some fun.” To her relief, Li gives a small smile and continues forward with a pep in his step. Jet follows behind them, laughing. Laughter and light on a chilly spring evening is almost too much to hope for. Jin has spent so many nights alone, trying to avoid nightmares. And now, she has two other misfits beside her, full of demons and memories and life. It’s a small thing, but Ba Sing Se almost feels like home.