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Aang loves Sokka, truly, from the bottom of his heart—but he gives shit advice and there’s no changing that. And that’s because even before you finish telling him what the problem is, he’s already made up his mind about it. If you look for the definition of opinionated in a dictionary, Aang is pretty sure Sokka’s picture would be there, jumping out of the page.
So, it’s not for advice that he takes all his problems to him first thing. It’s because watching Sokka get all worked up about stuff never fails to cheer him up. It usually works because the curve line of Sokka’s thought process leads him so far from the actual point that it makes Aang’s actual worries appear less reasonable by association. It’s very therapeutic.
It doesn’t has the same effect when Sokka is being reasonable and reflecting Aang’s fears back to himself, though. Then it’s hurtful and scary and makes Aang want to curl into himself, which is exactly what is happening this time.
“You need to toughen up or they will walk all over you,” Sokka starts, not with his usual over-the-top tone, but with the confidence of a war veteran. “If you don’t stand your ground, you will devour you. That's how corporations work: survival of the strongest and all that. Don’t think of anyone as a friend, there are only enemies out there. Well, not like you will even get time for friendship—”
“Stop it, you are freaking him out,” Katara interrupts, placing a protective hand over Aang’s shoulder.
“I’m just saying he has to be prepared,” Sokka says, shrugging. “I really think this might be what breaks him.”
Aang laughs awkwardly, trying and failing to let Sokka’s words enter through one ear and leave through the other, as he would normally do. Sokka’s experience is, unfortunately, a real source of authority in the matter. Unlike Aang, who has spent his first post-college year trying to avoid any serious venture into the adult world, Sokka has already spent four years living and surviving in the labor market. He’s sure that would do a number on anyone.
“You will be fine, Aang,” Katara says, rolling her eyes at her brother. “You are smart, friendly and assertive. I’m sure you will be a hit. Besides, you can always leave if you don’t like it.”
Oh, but can he? That’s what he’s scared about. If he doesn’t like it maybe he can run away this time, but eventually he will have to settle for something. If it’s not this soul-crushing job, it will be the next one.
He notices his breath quickening, and takes one hand to his chest to feel its rhythm even out. But when he turns around to face his friends, Katara’s eyes don’t reflect back his own fear, only that same love he’s seen there for years—unwavering. There’s a reason why she’s the person whose advice he actually listens to.
Maybe he doesn’t need to have all the answers right now, when the questions have barely taken shape.
He throws his arms over her shoulders, going for a hug. “Thanks, Katara.”
For the most part, it turns out to be fine. There are bad days, and good days, but it’s fine—even though every Sunday night it becomes harder and harder to face the incoming week. He hates the deadlines, the meetings, the last minute requests, and the miscommunication. He hates working forty hours a week, and he hates working over hours even more. He likes that he doesn’t have to use his brain, not in any way that matters, at least. It means he can easily binge the last season of his favorite show the night it drops without having to worry about his concentration prowess being affected.
If it weren’t for the people, he would go through his days in automatic pilot.
He was lucky enough to land in the best team in the whole company—he’s sure. Part of that it’s just Suki, who is just the coolest person Aang’s ever met, but Haru and Teo are also a lot of fun. He talks more with Suki though, because their desks are next to each other and even more so because Suki seems to hate Zhao, their direct boss, almost as much as he does.
A hate that remains sadly unrequited, for reasons that escape him but that Aang suspects are just psychological warfare. Zhao did tell him once that he found Aang’s impertinence good for fostering a creative working space; words that had sent chills down his spine and almost made him crash his bike on the way home.
That’s the worst part: the feeling that you can’t even rebel without feeding the machine, that there’s no escape. It is a disheartening and soul-crushing, but mainly Aang tries not to think about it.
“Hey, Aang,” Suki says for the tenth time on this past hour; because, apparently, she’s able to both work and talk at the same time, which is an entirely foreign concept to Aang. “Did you hear there’s someone new coming?”
“No?” Aang replies, mildly curious. Curious, because something new happening is always exciting; but only mildly, because this place has a way of dodging change even when it seems like it can only crash into it with the strength of a meteorite.
“I thought you would be more excited,” she says. “You will finally be a senior to someone.”
He looks at her weird, wondering why she would even say that to him out of all people—him who has never cared for authority nor hierarchies. What would he even get out of being a senior?
“Yeah,” he drags the word, unconvinced. But then, a bulb lights up in his head. “Yeah!” he says, suddenly on board. “Hey, maybe I could show them the ropes.”
He would like that, actually. Having Suki with him during that first week had made such a difference for him, but not everyone was lucky enough to have a Suki by their side. Maybe he could be that to someone else, give that love back and make the world a little less harsh in the process.
“Yeah, you go boy,” Suki says, giving him a thumbs up and turning back towards her screen when she catches Zhao’s questioning gaze—also from the tenth time on the past hour.
The person in question doesn’t show up until a week later, which gives Aang plenty of time to run a dozen different scenarios through his head until he thinks he has covered most of the possibilities reality has to offer. He tries to at least, even though his imagination stubbornly returns to the versions that end up with him and the newcomer becoming the best of friends in a matter of minutes. Aang just can’t help but to hope sometimes.
Reality isn’t that generous, though.
It all happens in a matter of minutes: one second he’s working, and the next he’s craning his neck trying to catch a glimpse of the new guy over the rows of desk getting in between. Luckily, Zuko’s tall enough that his head does rise up over the cubicle’s panels, his face more cautious than friendly as he tries to take in his surroundings.
It doesn’t deter Aang, though: been there, done that. He knows what that look of determination can hide, if Zuko’s awkward slouch is anything to go by. If anything, it immediately endears him to him. It just makes him look like he takes himself a bit too seriously—and it makes Aang want to smooth the frown at the center of his forehead, right over the edge of his scar.
He’s handsome too, with his sharp eyes and his long black hair tamed into a ponytail.
The directives inform everyone then that Zuko will be working with them from then on, and ask them to please take care of him. Especially everyone in Ming’s team, since they will be leaving Zuko in their hands.
Aang’s heart sinks a little at that. Surely, someone from his actual team would be assigned to help him around now, and being in different teams, Aang won’t even get many chances to talk to the guy, nor will he have any reasons to.
Just like that, Aang’s hope of doing something that he feels mattered, vanishes from his hands. It’s especially frustrating because Zuko looks really interesting, like someone Aang would befriend even outside the company.
“So, what do you think about the new guy?” Suki asks him some minutes before their lunch break.
“Does it matter?” Aang pouts. “He’s not even in our section.”
“Don’t tell me that’s gonna stop you,” she says, indignant. “I didn’t take you for a quitter, Aang. He does look a little shy, after all. I say he needs a little push.”
Maybe she’s right, he thinks as he lets her words sink in. Others could easily show Zuko around and help him out with the work related stuff, and they can do it way better than Aang would. But Aang has friendship and warmth to offer, and keeping those to himself only because Zuko got assigned to a different team seems like the kind of corporate logic he’s been trying to fight against.
Aang smiles conspiratorially at her, checking the time in his computer.
“You are the best,” he says, already standing up now that his friend gave the social butterfly in him permission to take off.
It takes some wandering around before he locates Zuko’s desk, tragically out of sight from his own but not as far as he could have feared. He stops by the spot, resting his arms over the cubicle panels.
“Hi,” he says, squinting his eyes as he smiles. “Zuko, right? I’m Aang.”
Zuko looks up at him with the look of a deer in the headlights. If he weren’t encapsulated by his own desk, Aang’s sure he would be looking around to make sure Aang wasn’t talking to someone else. As it stands though, he has nowhere to run.
“Yeah?” Zuko tries, his voice cracking a bit.
“I was on my way to make myself a coffee,” Aang starts, aiming for something more casual. “And was wondering if you would like me to show you around the cafeteria? Lunch break is about to start, anyway.”
“Hmm,” Zuko says, dropping his gaze to his computer, looking at the clock for an answer. Aang wonders what is it he’s hoping to find there, whether it’s an excuse to accept or reject the offer. “Okay. Yeah, sure,” he adds, as if trying to convince himself. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” Aang echoes, unable to keep himself from beaming. “Let’s go.”
“Though,” Zuko says, halting in the middle of standing up as a new thought registers in his brain now that the initial shock has faded a little. “They already told me where everything is.”
Aang had figured as much, but still hoped Zuko would humor him in the name of socialization. Still, he doesn’t feel like Zuko is actually rejecting him as much as trying to get a grip on the situation.
He carries himself a bit like one of those cubicles they spend their whole days sitting at, all boxed in and surrounded by walls. The first day is always like that.
“Oh, I thought so.” Aang laughs. “Still, let me at least walk you through your first coffee here. The machine has its tricks, I’ll show you.”He leads the way to the cafeteria then, glad that not many people have showed up for lunch yet and the space is still quite clear. It can get so crowded when the guys from the upper floor come down for lunch too.
Aang steps in, waiting for Zuko to catch up to him.
“I like your ponytail, by the way,” he says, when Zuko walks into the room.
“Thanks,” Zuko says, quietly. “Nice bald head?” he tries. “I mean, it’s very—”
Zuko stops, his face red as he struggles to stutter out a coherent sentence. Aang snorts.
“The coffee machine is the best part of this job,” he says, offering him a distraction. “I’m honored to be the one introducing you two.” He takes a hand to his chest to signal how touched he is. “Now, look: if you want to make yourself a coffee, always check that there’s enough water in the container first,” he says, starting a demonstration. “You have to give the machine a couple of seconds, so it can heat the water. When this light turns on, that means it’s ready to go.”
The silence as they wait for the coffee is a bit awkward, but Aang lets it be. The machine doesn’t take long to light up anyway, and Aang takes the small espresso cup into his hands. He’s handing it to Zuko when someone bumps into his side, spilling the coffee over his hand.
“Oh, fuck,” Aang says, wiping his hand on a paper towel. Thankfully, the water wasn’t hot enough to burn. “Sorry, that’s how lunchtime is,” he says, once he notices how crowded the cafeteria had gotten as they had stood there, waiting.
Zuko holds his half-filled cup in his hands, lost in space, and Aang decides to lead him out into the corridor with a hand in his elbow.
But maybe Zuko had been waiting for an excuse to flee after all, because once they make it out, he mumbles something about having to pick up his lunch and vanishes from between his fingers.
“So, how did it go?” Suki asks him when they meet in the elevator.
“I think he will have to queue twenty minutes in front of the microwave instead of five” he says, deflated. “I don’t know. It was kind of a failure. I didn’t even get to ask him to have lunch with us.”
Suki laughter fills the air. “Come on, cheer up,” she says, shaking him by his shoulders. “You will get more chances.”
He does not, in fact, get many chances after that.
They usually all have lunch in the ramen place across the street, which means he only ever bumps into Zuko by the coffee machine. The first time he saw him queuing there, he had gotten a little excited before he noticed the air buds hanging from his ears. The most he got out of him that time had been a nod of acknowledgment, so he gives it up after that.
The thing is he doesn’t know why it bothers him, or why he can’t seem to let it go. It would be so simple to put the whole thing beside him: out of sight, out of mind style. But for some reason, his mind keeps going back to it.
But then there’s the undeniable fact that Zuko hasn’t made any other friends in the office either. He always sees him alone, and all interactions are always fleeting. There’s nothing wrong with that, though, and maybe Aang would be able to leave it if Zuko didn’t look so miserable, like someone who permanently got his head pooped on by a bird. The slouch of his shoulders, his knees burying into the desk day after day. The loneliness of it all.
It makes Aang want to shake him a little, tell him it’s okay to take up more space. Ask him why would he choose suffering—why would he choose to be alone, when being alone is so hard?
Aang groans.
This whole thing is getting out of control. It was supposed to be fun. When did it stop being fun? Maybe Sokka’s right when he said Aang’s daily life is so boring, he’s just looking for an escape, something to give meaning to his empty days. If Aang hadn’t told himself so many stories about Zuko before the guy even had a face and a name, maybe he wouldn’t be so fixated on him.
“I think I lost my touch,” he says, melting into his chair. “I’ve been sending telepathic messages to Zuko for days, but he still doesn’t look my way.”
Suki just laughs at him.
“What happened to your mug?”
Aang turns around at the question, wondering whether that could truly be Zuko’s voice. He shouldn’t be able to pick on it that quickly, considering how little they have talked, but that just another way in which Zuko is his exception.
His senses didn’t fail him: it is Zuko the one standing behind him, queuing for the machine, no earphones visible for once. And he’s talking to him.
Wait a second—did he also notice his usual coffee cup is missing? Does Zuko notice things about him? Is that a thing?
Aang does his best at not freaking out—mainly because he knows making a big deal out of their interactions would only make future interactions less likely. If Aang learn anything from the time he volunteered in the animal rescue center, is that one has to handle skittish animals very carefully.
But this is a story he really likes to tell. There’s nothing like making a fool of yourself.
“I broke it,” Aang pouts. “I had it in the side of my backpack, and was heading to work when the chain of my bike came off. I turned it around to fix it, but when I crouched over the bike, the drink spilled all over me and the cup hit the ground,” he laughs, recounting how Suki had laughed at the huge wet spot covering all of his torso that morning. “It was so stupid, I’m still mad thinking about it. I know I should just get a new one, but I figured a good reusable mug deserved at least a month of mourning, so I’m sticking to the paper cups until I’m ready to move on,” he shrugs. “Maybe it’s a sign I should stop drinking so much coffee.”
“I’m sorry for your cup,” Zuko says. “And for you too, obviously,” he adds, the curves of his lips twisting at his slip.
“Thanks,” Aang says, putting his paper cup over the drip tray when the light turns up.
He wants to say more, chat a bit as he waits for Zuko’s coffee to be ready, maybe even drink it together as they chat in the cafeteria. But he’s been waiting for an opportunity like this for so long that he suddenly finds himself at loss for words.
Instead of letting the awkward silence hang any longer, Aang excuses himself and makes his way back to his cubicle. That’s enough for now, he figures. Sometimes it pays not to be too greedy—and that was nice. Very, very nice.
Fridays are Aang’s favorite day of the week, and the best part of the best day of the week is the journey back home, when he pedals through the city leaving all the worries of his work behind and heading towards a weekend spent lazying around with his two favorite persons in the world, who also happen to be his roommates. Life can’t get much better than that.
So, when Aang opens the door to his apartment just to find Suki already splayed on the couch with Sokka, he’s understandably upset.
“How did you get here so fast?” he groans, walking towards the kitchen counter where Katara is waiting for the water to boil. “Katara, hug me. I think I have Suki overdose. I need contact from a different human.”
“You do know you introduced them to each other, right?” She mumbles against his shoulder.
“I didn’t know this would happen,” Aang says, offended. “I just thought it would be neat if my friends were friends with each other. I was blind to their true intentions.”
Sokka snorts loud enough to be heard from the other side of the room.
“Careful, Aang,” he says. “I got leverage now, so don’t upset me.”
Aang frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Suki here was just showing me Zuko’s Instagram,” he says, waving Suki’s phone in his hand. “Pretty handsome dude. The girls you have dated are all over the place, but I see you do have a type when it comes to boys,” he says, a smug smile on his face. “So, no second intentions?”
“First, I don’t have a crush on him,” Aang says, making his way to the couch. “Second, you are friends on Instagram?” He turns to Suki with a pout.
“He just showed up in my suggestions,” she shrugs. “Maybe if you stopped being stubborn and made an account, you two would be Instagram friends already.”
“But I want to be real friends,” he says, snatching Suki’s phone from Sokka’s claws.
It’s a private account, so Aang can only see the profile picture. It’s a close up of Zuko’s characteristic blank resting face that Aang knows so well. But unlike in the office, his hair is styled down—the shadows highlighting his sharp features.
“Well, I never said he wasn’t hot,” he says, before the others can point out his blush and use it against him. “But that’s just a plus.”
“The culprit confesses,” Sokka laughs.
“Let me see,” Katara says, taking the phone from Aang’s hand. Whenever hotness is being discussed, Katara always gets the final word. “Well, he looks… angry. And like he never got over his emo phase.”
“I think it’s the light,” Suki offers.
“I mean, he’s kinda angry,” Aang says, fully aware he’s starting to dig his own grave but also unable to stop himself. “But isn’t that kind of the point of his charm?”
They all explode in laughter.
“We lost him,” Sokka sentences.
“Don’t laugh at him. I think he’s got a real chance. At least Zuko takes his earphones off now, when Aang talks to him,” Suki says, snickering behind her hands.
“Oh, you are making real progress,” Sokka says, enjoying it a bit too much. “Cheer up, Aang. Maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t know you exist. If he actually had any interest in you, I bet it would evaporate the moment he learns you like to pick up your food from the garbage, and that would be really tragic,” he says. “Better to never have loved, than loved and lost.”
Aang’s burst out laughing at that, despite the anxiety that had been building up in his stomach at his friend’s jokes.
“That’s not even how the saying goes,” Aang laughs. “And I’m gathering from your tone that you won’t go dumpster diving with me this weekend either.”
“Listen well, buddy: I will never ever go dumpster diving with you,” Sokka says, untangling himself from Suki’s side to lean threateningly into Aang’s space. That’s just how serious he’s about it. “But I will go pick up yours and Toph’s corpses from the morgue just so I can tell your food-poisoned bodies I fucking told you so.”
“Very sweet,” Aang says, chuckling.
The conversation strays away from Zuko after that, to Aang’s both delight and dismay.
He doesn’t have a crush on Zuko, though. That’s ridiculous, he barely knows the guy. Of course he finds Zuko attractive. That’s an entirely different matter. He has eyes, and he’s not stupid. But that’s not enough to make it a crush.
He is drawn to him, though, or to a potential in him—to the what-ifs. It’s sort of a pre-crush if you will. The thrill of anticipating something that might very well disappoint him. That's not a crush. If it is, there’s hardly anything serious or real about it. If it is, it’s hardly about Zuko.
But, then again, it’s not just physical attraction either. He’s also attracted to the bits of him that his body language reveals, to his presence. Because Zuko’s personality is loud despite his quietness, and it seems to always be about to burst through the restraints of corporate formality. He’s never seen him openly rebelling against anything, but there’s something about him that is defiant. Aang likes him because he thinks he won’t last in a job like this—and that gives him hope.
Oh-uh.
Okay, that does sound like he has a crush. But even then, it’s not something he should take seriously. These are feelings he literally pulled out of thin air, for fuck’s sake. They are absolutely baseless.
He hates thinking about this. It feels like any chance he had of letting these burgeoning feelings bloom naturally, has been taken away from him the moment his friends decided to point them out. If he had been hyper-aware of Zuko before, this is just gonna make things worse. Crushes make Aang stupid and awkward—even his limbs forget how to move naturally.
There’s a cure, though. Maybe all he needs to do is to actually get to know the guy, and then his feeling will disappear like smoke. He could be a total asshole, for a start. But even if he’s not, there’s still no way Zuko can meet the expectations he’s built for him after months of pining from afar.
But he doesn’t think Zuko will take pity on him any soon.
The Zuko thing continues to be a point of contention in their household during the next few weeks. Aang figures Sokka is so glad he finally found something he can pester Aang about, that he’s trying to milk it as much as he can. And it’s starting to get annoying.
“You said yourself that the system is ruthless,” Aang starts, defending himself by raising the conversation a few levels on the intellectual scale. “I mean, we are working these senseless, joyless jobs. Shouldn’t we find meaning in each other? Why wouldn’t I want to be his friend?”
“Oh my god,” Sokka screams, throwing him a pillow that lands on Aang’s face. “You just think he’s hot, stop making it over some overarching political project, you fuckhead.”
“Oh, but you made it into a political problem when you said the only reason I liked him was because I needed a distraction from my boring job!” Aang says, starting to get angry for real this time. “The job that got you a girlfriend, by the way, but I guess it wasn’t a problem then.”
“Just get your own boyfriend,” Sokka says, hugging the pillow still next to him defensively. “Loser.”
“Maybe I will,” Aang snaps back.
“Good for you.”
“I know.”
Eventually, Aang learns to stop being afraid and love the bomb. He doesn’t know where to put his feelings for Zuko anyway, so making fun of them is as good as anything else. Yes, he played himself. Yes, he talked himself into an unrequited crush on a coworker he’s barely crossed words with—what a genius move.
His version of Zuko is already so divorced from reality, he cuts the link completely. It’s all good as long as he’s aware of it, knows it’s all just a game. He crosses his fingers behind his back every time he talks about it, so it doesn’t count. It’s the only way he can hold onto those feelings.
He doesn’t know why, but he thinks it’s important that he holds onto those feelings. If he lets them go, it’s another hope the world has taken from his clasped fingers. So, he keeps them, even as he lets go of all the things he’s told himself about Zuko.
“Who did you get?” Aang asks, peeking over Suki’s shoulder into her screen.
It’s the holiday season, as the snow piling up by the sidewalks could tell anyone who cared to ask them, and everyone in their company’s building has been either dreading or anticipating the arrival of the email with their Secret Santa draws, ever since it had been announced two weeks before.
“On Ji,” Suki replies after clicking her inbox open. “Sorry, Aang.”
Aang laughs, not even disappointed anymore. What were the chances of any of them getting Zuko in a company with dozens and dozens of employees? They were lucky they got people they knew enough to attach a face to the name.
“What about you?” She asks. “Who did you get?"
“Jun,” he lies, because the name on his screen it’s hers, and this is the perfect excuse to show her how much she has come to mean to him by getting her something nice, like that ugly furry chalk bag she wanted for her climbing lessons.
“There’s still the company party,” she says. “Don’t give up.”
“What are you talking about?” he laughs. “Even if Zuko does come, I already promised my first dance,” he says, batting his eyelashes at her. “You aren’t ditching me, aren’t you?”
“No way,” she says, that same look of determination on her face that she has when she kicks Sokka’s ass in a video game. “It’s a promise.”
Aang types as fast as he can on his computer, as if he could inspire the clock to move faster by the sheer speed of his fingers. That’s the thing about holidays: the closer they get, the slower time seems to pass.
He looks at the clock: there’s still twenty minutes left, but fuck it. He can’t do this.
Beside him, Suki starts putting on her coat. Aang gives her a little smile, as he finally turns off his computer. He gives his chair a twirl, stretching his arms over his head.
He’s so close to being free—the only thing standing between him and the holidays now it’s the company party. He doubts it will be that much fun, but it’s not as bad as being trapped here. He’s even kind of looking forward to it ever since Haru volunteered to be this year’s Santa. Aang’s gonna take so many pictures of that. He will never let him live that down.
“Aang?”
Aang stops rotating in his chair to find Zuko lingering in front of his desk.
Well, that’s an unexpected plot twist. Aang resists the urge to check what kind of face Suki is making at them. Damn, he hopes she’s being normal about it. He doesn’t want to scare Zuko away.
“Yeah?”
“I got you something,” he says, handing him a little package over the glass panel. “It’s for the Secret Santa thing,” he clarifies—as if the option of him getting Aang a present for no reason were somewhat on the table.
Aang grabs the package from his hands, feeling the wrapping with a frown. The paper is rough under his fingers, and the situation starts to slowly settle in his brain.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, feeling still a bit unsure.
He’s really Zuko’s Secret Santa, isn’t he? He wants to laugh. It’s just—what were the chances? Maybe telepathy did fail him, but Aang’s faith in synchronicity has been restored.
“What should I do?” Aang blurts out, laughing awkwardly. “Should I open it?”
The tension in Zuko’s face fades a little at Aang’s laugh.
“Aang, I’m leaving,” Suki says, jumping into his line of sight to kiss him goodbye with a pointed look. “Don’t forget the party. Bye, Zuko.”
“Oh, yeah, the party,” Aang says, face-palming himself and thanking Suki for the reminder. He stares back at Zuko, a realization slowly hitting him. “You are not going? The gift exchange was supposed to be at the party.”
“No,” he says, shrugging. “I’m not Christian.”
Though that didn’t stop him from getting Aang a gift. Noted.
“Me neither. I’m only going for the dancing and the free snacks,” Aang says, throwing in a little dance step for emphasis.
“Yeah,” Zuko laughs, deflating. “Not my kind of thing.”
“That’s fair,” Aang says, dropping it. “Hey, don’t stand there.” He gives Suki’s chair next to him a little push. “Come sit down, I’m gonna open it now.”
Zuko sits in the empty chair, following the movements of Aang’s hands as they unwrap the gift with his eyes. Aang tries his best to not tear the paper under his attention, but it rips in two anyway when he tries to pull the tape out.
“Ouch,” he says, cringing. “I think I just killed a deer.”
He peeks inside then, finding what looks like a box with a coffee mug in it. It’s one of those reusable coffee cups, he realizes as he takes it out, but this one is also plastic-free.
Eco-friendly, fucking awesome. Just like the one he used to have.
He stops in his tracks, feeling a different sort of warmth than the one that makes him blush spread through his chest. It’s such a nice gift, one that could be so generic coming from someone else, but it’s not. It feels like a hand being extended, a bond forming.
Coffee had been the one thing they have shared, the only thread linking them together. Zuko had picked it up and offered it back to him with this cup.
It felt like the beginning of something.
“This is awesome,” he says, beaming.
He turns the mug around in his hands and, this time, the white lotus logo at the front makes something click in his mind. “The Jasmine Dragon,” Aang mumbles to himself.
“You know that place?” Zuko asks, lighting up.
“Are you kidding? I love it,” he says, remembering some fond memories from the past winter. “Best tea I’ve ever had.”
“My uncle actually runs the place.”
An old man with a white beard standing behind the counter. Aang remembers something like that.
“I think I met him,” Aang says, smiling faintly at the memory. “He got mad when I asked if they had coffee.”
“Yeah, sounds like him,” Zuko says, fond behind the tone of annoyance.
“Well, then we won’t tell him what the cup is actually for.”
Zuko laughs at that, and Aang beams. His sense of preservation is slipping out of his body at a dangerous rate.
“It’s a pity you are not going to the party,” he says, praying he’s not overdoing it. “You could have brought your uncle. I bet he would’ve made a very convincing Santa.”
Zuko snorts, but the smile stays firmly on his face.
“Don’t give him any ideas.”
Aang turns the gift around in his hands another time, taking in the moment. He feels like he smiles more than this, his cheeks are going to be sore for the rest of the afternoon.
“Thanks for the present, Zuko,” he says, hoping Zuko can tell how much he means it—even if he has liked the chat attached to the gift even better. “I really liked it.”
Aang had imagined talking with him so many times, he wondered how could talking to Zuko could ever feel natural again. It was so different in reality, though. It was so easy, the way they let words flow between each other. There’s a bit of nervousness, or maybe it’s just excitement. But mostly, Aang feels calm and right—his whole heart full of something he can’t define, but it’s light and warm and airy.
Zuko blushes a bit at Aang’s words, fidgeting in his chair.
“Actually,” Zuko starts, trailing off. “I really wanted to thank you for how nice you were with me those first weeks. It kind of freaked me out at the beginning. I’m sorry I didn’t know how to react.”
“It’s okay,” Aang says, surprised at the turn of events. “I’m a little too much sometimes.”
“But it wasn’t that at all,” Zuko says, a little louder than he’d intended. He leans back into his chair then, trying to find his train of thought again.“I was in a different mental space back then… I thought everyone was out to get me. Every time you approached me, I kept wondering: what’s this guy’s angle?”
“There wasn’t any angle,” Aang says, trying to ignore the little Sokka screaming at his left shoulder. He doesn’t think a half-cooked crush he wasn’t even that aware of counts as an agenda.
Fuck, he’s not supposed to be thinking about how hot Zuko is now of all times. Aang bets he’s blushing. Fuck you, Sokka.
“Yeah, I know that now,” Zuko says, staring at his shoes. “But by the time I got it, I’d already ruined it.”
“What?” Aang says, taken aback. “What are you talking about?”
“It just seemed like you were avoiding me?” Zuko tries, a hundred different thoughts visibly flashing through his eyes. “Or like something was stopping you from talking to me?”
It’s Aang’s turn to produce hundreds of thoughts per second this time. Is that really what it had looked like from Zuko’s side? But then, what gave him that impression?
Oh-uh, it was the crush wasn’t it? In his fear of giving away too much, of being too much; in his fear of freaking him out and scaring him away, had he actually been avoiding him? Had he held back?
The reason why Zuko had remained out of his grasp, had it been himself all along? Aang wants to hit his head against the desk.
“Okay, forget it,” Aang says, because he’s not about to explain the whole crush ordeal to Zuko. Not this time, at least. “Let’s start over,” he says, stretching a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Are you serious?” Zuko says, snorting. But he still shakes his hand, anyway. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you” Aang parrots back again, if only to hold Zuko’s hand a couple of seconds longer. “Friends?”
Zuko shakes his head, the red of his ears showing through his dark hair. It’s cute. Aang hopes one day he will get to poke them.
“Friends.”