Chapter Text
Katara Uhane wanted, rightfully so, nothing to do with him.
Zuko dropped his head against the brick wall with a groan. The chatter of customers and the clang of tea pots and cups blended together into a comfortable hum—had he not just ruined it once again with Katara. It wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose, but he figured that he tried too hard that he stumbled over his words and ran past his mouth and suddenly, abruptly, he’d insulted her. A Ryu family trait, he supposed.
Peeking over his shoulder, he watched the scowling girl sit back down with her friends in their booth. Aang, her brother Sokka, and Toph. A weird bunch, but they had been friends for as long as he knew them. Zuko left the establishment.
The city of New Seoul bustled with life under the midday sun. Trams filled with people, workers going up and down the steps of the metro stations, the laughter of high schoolers free to grab lunch in between classes—or they played hooky, who’s to say—and tourists from Ba Sing Se and the Air Temple Province blocking the pavements. They were so easy to spot: Air Nomads always wore those old-timey sandals and the folk of Ba Sing Se never went anywhere without some type of overhyped technology in their hands.
Catching the S-train, Zuko mushed himself in between an old lady with a shopping cart and another student from New Seoul University. NSU was popular among locals and tourists alike, so students had no issue gloating about their school by wearing sweaters or shirts with the name and logo branded on it. Zuko preferred anonymity though. It was bad enough his classmates knew of his family legacy. (Katara being one of them.)
NSU was an impressive building. Though the architects had respected the original Fire Nation structure, they added modern and glossy wings around it, connected by glass skyways and marble trimming. The grounds were flanked by lush quads with grass and trees, archways covered in vines, and in the springtime—like now—cherry blossoms bloomed. Although summer was his favourite time of year, spring came second. Zuko walked through the main entrance, went up the steps and towards the East Wing where his department resided: Political Science.
The faculty which PoliSci belonged to—social sciences—had its own library. Zuko spent most of his time there. He liked the discipline and focus that surrounded the space. Students grinding down on papers or their thesis, others sitting on the ground between the aisles with a book in their lap, the rare giggle amongst friends from the study group booths. Its modern look with strong, wooden tables, dividers, and perfect warm lighting; Zuko had found himself over a dozen times until dawn working here.
He sat down at a free desk, logged in through the QR-code and gave himself three hours to work on his paper on the political history of the Fire and Water Nation pre-Sozin’s Comet. That Comet, alongside the alliance of the Water, Earth and Air Nations, was the downfall of their segregated world and the end of the Ryu Dynasty. That happened over a hundred years ago now, but the history still followed him, haunted him, as his traditionalist father held onto the title with an iron grip—as if it meant anything. The only thing the Ryu family had left was generational wealth and trauma. What a joy.
Mai texted him. You’re free tonight?
Zuko grimaced. I’m not. I’m working on my paper.
She replied instantly. You’re always working on your paper. Think of a better excuse.
Jeez. He knew he previously said he liked her because of her domineering personality, but he was second-guessing that now. Or maybe he should just come clean and tell her he didn’t want to see her anymore. But then she’d have his head—literally. Her Admiral father wouldn’t let his youngest daughter get hurt like that.
He hesitated. I am though. What about tomorrow?
Tomorrow I’m working, she answered. Well then. That was it, huh? Putting his phone face-down, he pulled on his headphones and resumed working on the paper. Until she called. With a surge of shame—he hated when people’s phones went off, especially his own—and the fling of a wrist, he answered the call and dove to a secluded corner of the library, where he wouldn’t disturb anyone.
“What the hell, Mai, I’m at the library,” he spewed.
“How should I know?” she snipped. Even so, her voice sounded monotone. He imagined her lounging on her bed in her apartment, tossing a silver pen in the air and catching it. “Anyway, just come over, Zuko. I’m bored.”
He sighed and began to pace. “Then entertain yourself.”
“Wow, I haven’t thought of that yet,” she replied, sarcastic. “What is up with you? I know you’re not a ray of fucking sunshine either, but it’s never like this.”
Zuko glanced at his spot in the library. If he didn’t return to it soon, someone would start trying to claim it as their own. “Look, I’m busy. I am working on a paper, an important one.”
“ Every paper is important to you.” Mai never understood. She was a Japanese Literature major. All she had to do was read poetry all day and give feedback on people’s writing. “You and Azula are both so frigid.”
He rolled his eyes, but his hand tightened around the phone until his knuckles went white. “I am not like Azula.”
“Sure,” she drawled. “Whatever, Zuko. Don’t call me tonight. I’ll entertain myself.”
Without waiting for a reply, she hung up. Zuko huffed and stomped back to his seat while muttering profanities under his breath. He couldn’t call her when she was the one that initiated conversation? He couldn’t deal with her anymore.
Zuko met Mai at the start of university. Though he’d seen her at high-class functions in the past from the other side of the room, he properly introduced himself in the cafeteria where they both stood in line. It turned out Mai and Azula had become friends—much to his dismay—but he found himself spending a lot of time with her, quickly becoming infatuated with her dark sense of humour and glum personality. She matched him, in a way, and the feeling was mutual.
Which started their infamous on-again-off-again relationship for the past three and a half years. And he was sick of it. Zuko was twenty-two, close to twenty-three. He was tired of her games and erratic mood swings. He was tired of having his feelings be brushed off by her every time he tried to confide. He knew it was his own fault though. He chose her and he knew she wouldn’t let go as she didn’t see any issue with their toxicity. Even more, she yearned for it. Why else had she called him just now? Mai loved the fight. Maybe that was why she and Azula were drawn to each other like that.
Zuko harrumphed. Maybe Azula and Mai should date instead!
Someone coughed beside him and Zuko stopped his pouting. Right. The library. He continued working on his paper, felt the sun drifting lower and lower to the horizon, and left when his phone beeped at the three hour mark. He passed by the grocery store for beef and kimchi. He still had potatoes and rice at home to make the bulgogi and the proper banchan . Afterwards, he took the long way home using the Q-train to watch the sky turn a vibrant orange and red—a common routine of his—and stepped off a block from his apartment building. Thankfully, he didn’t live in the dormitories anymore and afforded himself a humble studio apartment.
It held a double bed with red linens, his katanas tacked above the header; a simple kitchen; a kotatsu; a small living area with a comfortable couch, tv and bookcase. The walls were shades of cream and terracotta. He’d given up on black long ago.
Oh, and he had a Bombay cat.
“Ren,” he called out. The cat mewled pathetically and its head popped out from under the bed linens. Zuko grinned. “Food?”
The cat sprung off the bed. Food it was. It jumped on the small kitchen island and tilted its head at Zuko, waiting, like a royal on their throne asking the jester to do something funny.
“You act like you haven’t eaten in days,” Zuko commented as he dumped her cat food in her tin.
Setting it on the floor, the cat deigned him one more look before scarfing down her dinner. Zuko adopted Ren from the shelter two years ago and he was pretty sure they were soulmates. Ren just got him, though his father would call it an unmanly foolish thought. Whatever. It wasn’t like they spoke.
Cutting the beef and preparing the other ingredients, he made the bulgogi and put the rice in the rice cooker. From the radio, a band his uncle loved played a new single. A sense of peace rolled over his shoulders and his head lolled back with a sigh. He’d rather have quiet evenings for the rest of his damn life then spend one more miserable minute with Mai.
Instead, his mind wandered to the peeved Katara. How she’d crossed her arms and locked her jaw as he explained himself once more, how her eyes squinted when he stumbled over his words, and how she’d given him a firm ‘no’ before returning to her friends, leaving a cloud of yasmine perfume in her wake.
A part of him knew he shouldn’t bother her again, that he should ask someone else and leave her be, but another part of him—the large, stubborn part— knew she was it. That she’d be perfect. Her immense knowledge and determination was vital for his project. Why couldn’t she see that?
Zuko made up his mind. Quickly forcing all the food down and putting the leftovers in the fridge, he checked his watch. They were already open. Pulling on his shoes by the front door, he bid Ren goodbye and was off.
The Moonlight Boba Café stood in the heart of the university district. Tucked between a noodle shop and a nail salon, the boba shop was notable by its navy blue frontage, light wooden furniture, and white LED shop sign with its name in cursive. It was open from the afternoon ‘til the late hours, which made it a hit with sleep-deprived students and people working the night shift. There were only a few customers inside, with no one standing in line.
Katara stood behind the register. Long brown wavy hair, with silver rings and pearly beads woven into little braids around her head. Her doe eyes were a pale blue, in stark contrast with her brown skin. She wasn’t very tall, but she’d always seemed athletic to him, with a lithe body and elegant neck. Laughing with one of her colleagues, she hadn’t noticed him approaching yet.
She started talking before she saw him. With that melodic voice of hers, she said: “Hello, welcome to Moonlight Boba , how may I—” The words died on her tongue as their eyes locked. Katara frowned. “What are you doing here?”
“Please, Katara, reconsider,” he said, firm, about one minute away from pathetically begging.
“Sorry,” she gritted, “I don’t ‘reconsider’ for a Ryu.”
Her colleague, a girl of equal height with a brunette bob, coughed and nudged Katara. The girl in question sighed. “Do you want a boba?”
“No,” Zuko said.
“Then leave.”
“Fine,” he rushed. His eyes flitted to the banner of options behind her. “A Moonlight boba, please.” The colleague—Suki, her name tag read, began preparing the drink and leaving the two others to soak in the awkwardness. Katara looked anywhere but him, instead focusing on the little tv mounted in the corner of the shop that played a K-Drama. He pushed through. “Katara, it would be a great opportunity for the both of us.”
“That doesn’t surprise me that you only see opportunities,” she replied in mockery. Her pretty appearance hid a cold attitude and an even icier tongue. “The answer is no.”
“It’s not my fault I’m a Ryu, you know?” he said, annoyed. “I’m not like my father, or my forebears. Or my sister.”
“Look,” she cut in, “PoliSci majors are propaganda machines. You become politicians just looking for ways to get people’s vote. I am in Law. We actually try to enact change. Even if you weren’t a Ryu, we’d budge heads from the start. It’s a project doomed to fail.” His brows raised at her explanation. It meant she’d actually given it thought the first time he asked her. (And the second time today, at the tea house.)
“Have you considered that I want to campaign for the right ideas?” he pressed, leaning into the counter. Her eyes never wavered, he noted. Most people recoiled from the giant scar on his face, but she had never seemed perturbed by it.
“With a royalist, traditionalist family in your corner?” she asked with a curt laugh. “Not a chance.”
Zuko’s first impression of Katara was at a dorm party when she was debating an oblivious guy about environmental law. The guy was wholly unprepared and a nineteen year old Katara didn’t seem to understand this wasn’t the place for such conversation. Regardless, she lashed out at the guy for not comprehending the importance of metal straws and ran off, only to return minutes later to apologise and hand him a few straws of her own collection. Since then, he equally feared and admired the girl. And he needed her on his team for his final project.
Unfortunately though, all of their interactions have never gone well. They had a philosophy class together where she found out he descended from the Ryu Dynasty and he became her enemy without a real reason why. She gave poor feedback on his work on the discussion board online. When they crossed paths in the hallway, she made sure to send him a head-to-toe scowl. With Mai, her anger felt pointless and fatigued. With Katara, it was ablaze with life and determination. Had the people of their world still had powers—if the myths were true—then she’d kill him in a heartbeat with one flick of the wrist.
“Here you go,” Suki said, sliding the boba to his end. It had a light blue, milky colour, with the tapioca balls dancing around. The plastic cup had a crescent moon and sun printed on it.
“That’ll be ₩5800,” Katara added. Zuko wired the money, thanked the girls for the drink, and then, with a heavy head, left the shop in surrender.
Great. Three times, you’re out. Now, Zuko had to look for someone else. Every final year PoliSci student had to work with someone from a different faculty to create a political campaign surrounding one main topic. Katara’s fervour about environmental law would be perfect. He cared about it, too, and together they’d be able to come up with something great. But now he had to go back to the drawing board. Zuko pouted. Damn. It would’ve been so incredible. Maybe he should ask his Uncle for advice.
Suddenly, the door chimed behind him with quick steps to follow. “Wait!” Zuko paused in surprise and looked over his shoulder, finding an unsure Katara. His heart froze in his throat. “What would I get out of it?”
Holy shit. Trying to appear nonchalant and not like the stammering mess of that afternoon, he replied: “Great fucking credit and your name on the work of someone a year above you.”
Her lips pressed together. “I already have great ‘fucking’ credit.”
“Recognition, then?” When she stayed quiet, he dared to take a step closer to her. “Katara, I know this is just a project to propose the concept for a campaign, but actual politicians will be part of the jury. This isn’t some make-belief BS. If you want those ‘propaganda machines’ to hear your ideas, then this is it.”
He saw the gears turning in her head. From the lights of the boba shop, it illuminated her hair like a halo. His hands flexed and balled in anticipation, praying she’d finally accept. Who would’ve thought his final grade laid in the hands of some twenty-one year old girl?
“Fine,” she eventually uttered. Zuko withheld a gasp. “I’ll work with you.”
“When—?”
“But if you make one misstep, one thing that makes me unsure of your motives, one word that shows you don’t respect my thoughts or ideas…” She’d come closer, murmuring each syllable with fury and determination. Zuko stood still, watching her in slight awe. “Then I quit.”
A smile twitched on his lip. “We got ourselves a deal, Uhane. Let’s start this weekend, okay?”