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It was probably the rice wine talking. Or maybe the clear floral smelling liquor that had been sweet on her lips but burned a path down her throat.
“You have very pretty eyes.”
She feels the deep rumble of his laugh through his chest. His puff of breath is hot against her cheek. Her head feels heavy and his shoulder is an inviting pillow regardless of its sharp angle.
“You smell nice.”
“You smell drunk,” Aang replies as he cups Katara’s cheek and tips her head up, their gazes meeting. He smiles at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.