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Chapter Text

3 Hibakugatsu, 33 Days Since Yu Dao

Sumi has finally recovered from her injury. She's been especially energetic, and sometimes I think she can actually understand me.

On other news, her favourite food seems to be fish… whatever to keep her happy, I guess.

The sun has barely surfaced from below the ocean's depths when Kenma wakes to a fuzzy weight on him. His breath wheezes from his lungs as he slowly blinks the sleep away. A Sumi-shaped mass curled up on his chest lets out a self-satisfied yawn as his personal bubble has been ripped open, shredded, and eaten by the fluffy hellion.

Again.

Be it his leg, stomach, thigh, arm, or — today's pick—  his chest, it seems like she constantly needs to be in his personal space.

Not that Kenma minds.

He stretches his stiff limbs gingerly, flexing each muscle and relaxing in hopes it provides a better transition into the lucid world than the half assed blinking attempt from earlier. Sumi stirs with the disturbance of her sentient pillow and mirrors Kenma's outstretched dead starfish pose.

It's been 22 days since the impulsively adopted Cloud Jumper cub barreled into his life, leaving nothing but chaos in her wake. He loves her to bits. Though there is one thing -very minor but mildly inconvenient -  he's not very fond of. One, tiny thing— it's monumental for Kenma— her favorite food happens to require him to do something inconvenient— read: highly unpleasant.

He makes his way to the mouth of the river by his camp, a trek he's made so often that he doesn't even spare a glance at his burn trail. He breathes in the crisp scent of his surroundings, the smell of freshly turned earth and midnight showers permeates the air and tickles his nose, which helps him feel a bit more awake. 

He pulls out the net trap— thank the Hearth for the manual guide— that took him a full day to assemble and then another couple of agonising hours to set up. He sighs as he examines today's haul.

Fish. 

Through much trial and error, he has come to find that Sumi's food of choice is fire-roasted fish.

Much to his dismay.

If it weren't for Sumi, he'd probably only cook fish if he really needed the food because of how much he hated preparing it.

Though… seeing Sumi enjoy her portion of the food makes him almost forget his suffering. 

Almost.

***

With a well-fed Sumi curled up by his thigh, surrounded by half-gnawed fishbones and little bits of cooked flesh, Kenma closes his eyes to take a deep, grounding breath. Feeling it flow easily through his lungs and back out into the late morning air.

The past Avatars have started to check up on him from time to time, sometimes as a group, and at other times they come individually. His most frequent lone visitor is Yangchen— previous mother comparisons are not the reason for this, nuh uh, what a silly connection to make.

During one of these visits, she taught him how to go about contacting them himself if he ever needed help in the living world.

As he lets calmness wash over him, his senses dull to nothing but a warm numbness, the pressure of Sumi softly pressed against him drifts to nothingness, and he begins to feel himself slowly separate from his body. 

Time moves at a crawl, his surroundings melting away to the now familiar void of vast nothingness— he's started to call it the VVN for short, though Kuruk prefers to call it the ‘Afterlife Waiting Room’— a comfortable weightlessness consumes him as he makes a gentle descent to his intended destination.

A month ago, the notion of him seeking this place out would have sounded like the most ridiculous joke told to man… or woman— Kyoshi has made him drink his respect women juice—

He never expected to find some peace in hearing the now familiar voice.

“Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise?” A voice more gentle than the fluffiest of wispy clouds greets him with a smile equally as gentle, calming any tension he could have carried. A soothing breeze accompanies her as she approaches him.

“Hello, Yangchen,” He greets her with a slight bow to be polite— at least he thinks a small bow should be a universal sign of politeness— three figures stand beside her, and Kenma can't help but remember their first meeting.

10 months sailed by really quickly. 

“What? And we don't get a greeting?” Another voice asks with a hurt too comical to be genuine, “I thought you finally started liking us, kid.” The smile on Wan's face betrays his act, to which Kenma rolls his eyes playfully.

“Don't embarrass him now, this is the first time he came to us first,” Kuruk helpfully points out— to no one—  “So let's be civil, I'm looking at you, Kyoshi.” He hisses warningly, which does nothing to help Kyoshi's already thinning patience, her eye twitches.

“Don't make me punch you in the presence of a child.” She grits through a slightly menacing smile.

“I'm starting to regret this…” Kenma sighs to himself.

Aren't they supposed to be older than me? He judges with a look that practically shouts his thoughts in bold letters and a neon sign— whatever that is… I’m looking at you authors. 

“Don't mind them, Kenma,” Yangchen soothes as she glides forward (I swear she uses her airbending to fly, I just can't prove it) as if she could hide the much taller bickering adults behind her slight frame. “What do you need, little gale? We'll help you to the best of our abilities.”

That seems to initiate a temporary truce as everyone's attention falls on Kenma, Wan snickers. It's something he still can't get used to. Attention. His eyes alternate between looking at the endless void beneath his feet and the never-ending darkness that surrounds them.

He chews on the words that have been weighing heavily on his mind for a couple of days now. They wait patiently for him to elaborate, a silence hangs in the air as if on a drifting current.

“I…” He takes a breath before continuing, “I want to learn waterbending.”

The silence that follows makes Kenma raise his head to gauge their lack of response.

Yangchen’s smile has softened like she is being filled up with pride. Wan's head tilts to the side like he'd be able to see where this came from if he could adjust his frequency of understanding right. Kyoshi’s eyes narrow in surprise like her vision worsened suddenly, and she doesn't know what she's looking at. Kuruk’s eyes go wide, like he is still processing what he said, but a smile slowly washes across his face.

Kenma averts his eyes before he continues. 

“I just… water is the opposite of fire, and— and I think— I need to start with something different. Something not tied to…” It's awkward and stuttered, as he vaguely gestures around himself like it adequately explains the Fire Nation, their war, and his whole life up until recently. The others seem to get the point regardless, so he guesses it was enough. 

“I mean, you almost set your camp on fire two days ago, waterbending would be good for you.” Wan teases with a huff and a gleam of amusement dancing between his eyes, something Kenma doesn't appreciate in the slightest. 

Mainly because he doesn't have a defense for that besides his fire still feeling woefully unbalanced as it roils in his sternum, and something tells him that he still wasn't ready for that conversation. 

“Setting that aside,” He snarks at Wan, “I was wondering if one of you could teach me...”

“We'd love to, but—,” Yangchen gently starts before being interrupted.

“We can’t teach you since we're dead.” Kyoshi interrupts bluntly, Kuruk practically glares a hole into the side of her head, to which she dutifully ignores him before she sighs and continues, “We can't use our bending anymore, and even if we tried to help, we wouldn't know if it was meaningful until you're back in your physical body. I'm sure you can see how ineffective that is.” Kyoshi deadpans at the end.

All those days of building up the courage to ask gone to waste like washed away words written on the shoreline before high tide [oof, that’s rough buddy]. 

“Aren't you guys just… me from different lives? Shouldn't I just know how to bend all the elements?” The question comes out small and meek, scared it will be met with a similar rejection. 

“That isn't how this works, unfortunately,” Wan starts, “You're technically not wrong, but we're all still our own people at the end of the day. Things I may like Yangchen might hate, and things Kyoshi is bad at may be things you are good at.” He explains gently.

To his credit, Kenma does understand this, but it doesn't solve his current problem at all. 

“Why not go to the Northern Water Tribe?” Kuruk suggests, “It's a short boat ride from here, and it's also where I grew up.”

“And this helps me how?” Kenma raises a brow, he doesn't understand how that would make a difference. 

“Hmmm, he might be onto something…” When Yangchen's response is met with Kenma's blank stare, she continues, “The place is connected to one of your past lives. The familiarity may help, even if it's not your own.”

He is about to refute when he remembers the temple. Since being here, he's had the most encounters with the Avatars, and he senses that the fact he could contact them so easily has to do with the spiritual connection this place has with Yangchen, therefore, him.

Wan nods at the sentiment, “Though, I'm not sure that a Fire Nation kid showing up in their land would be met… positively… what with the war and all.”

Kenma stiffens, not in surprise— never surprise after Yu Dao—, but rather because he doesn't blame them. Doesn't blame their fear or their hatred.

It's been over a month since the attack.

Since he disappeared. 

Even though he's sure that the Fire Nation wouldn't make public the news of his disappearance — can't let your targets know you’ve lost your greatest weapon—, he's also sure that the news of the attack definitely has been. The destruction he caused, the deaths—

“Hey, hey, get outta your head. I didn't say that to make you spiral, kid.” Wan ruffles his head, just like he did when they first interacted, “I just want you to stay safe, okay? Be aware of what you might be walking into.”

“I wasn't spiraling…” Kenma sulks— he totally was— as he fixes his hair, “I was just thinking that maybe being by the area should be enough… I don't want to interact with people anyway.” 

“Then it's settled.” Kuruk punctuates with a clap, “You're going to my homeland!” He says it with a level of carefree joy that suits him perfectly.

Kenma almost smiles at that… only almost. 

“You'd better start preparing for the trip now, though. It should take you about 4 weeks to get there by boat, and that's assuming nothing goes wrong.” Wan says this way too casually for Kenma's liking.

4 weeks?! Didn't Kuruk say it was a ‘short boat ride’ away??? I barely survived 3 days… He mentally freaks out, taking a moment to close his eyes and deeply consider his impending fate.

When he opens his eyes, everything around him slowly begins to become fuzzy.

“Looks like you're waking up,” Yangchen remarks, and she gives him a sympathetic smile, “You'll be okay, Kenma.” She places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Just do your best and we'll be right behind you.” Kuruk’s voice fades out completely at the end, and Kenma is alone again. The air around him shimmers and warps slowly like melting ice in a glass of water. He feels himself descend, and he closes his eyes against the feeling.

The feeling of plummeting down is a distant vertigo as he enjoys the feeling of gradually entering his body. When his eyes open, he's met with a sleeping Sumi who has made his lap her personal bed. He smiles, running his fingers through her fur, and a purr vibrating through his crossed legs is her only response to his returning consciousness. 

“Well, I can't leave you here, now can I?” He's grown very attached to Sumi over the short period of time she made herself at home in his life and personal space. Yangchen told him that she had become a sort of animal guide for him or something. 

That's a good enough reason for me to take her, he concludes.

He looks around his tent, taking in the temporary shelter he'd made. 

The one he'll have to pack up. Urghhh…

“I'll start tomorrow.” He decides, “Sumi's napping.” Kenma smiles as she continues to purr.

This is going to be a long couple of weeks.

3 Hibakugatsu, 33 Days Since Yu Dao

Sumi has finally recovered from her injury. She's been especially energetic, and I think she can actually understand me. Either that or I'm actually going insane.

On other news, her favourite food seems to be fish… whatever to keep her happy, I guess

–

They really think I can survive 4 weeks when I barely survived 3 days. I wish Sumi could fly or something. 

Chapter Text

4 Hibakugatsu, 34 Days Since Yu Dao, Day 1 of Voyage 

The more I think about the fact that it will take 4 weeks to get to the Water Tribe, the more I wish the Water Tribe would just come to me.

“Settling up this tent was way easier than packing it up, it makes no sense,” Kenma grumbles under his breath as he finally packs the now folded up tent in his bag.

He had procrastinated packing up yesterday for very valid reasons— Sumi took a nap, he joined her and didn't wake ‘til sunset— so here he is, at the crack of dawn, fumbling through packing his makeshift shelter to make the dreadful great voyage to the Northern Water Tribe.

He hauls the last of his supplies onto his boat, which Sumi— after a thorough inspection— has deemed her personal playground. She glides and hops between the two small benches of the sailboat, nearly throwing herself into the water a few times when particularly strong gusts catch in her gliders. Barely catching her, Kenma gently deposits her back into the safety of the boat. Every. Time. 

He sighs, placing his hand on her head to keep her still, “I swear to the Hearth if you throw yourself overboard, I'm not fishing for you.” Sumi tilts her head to the side to better nuzzle Kenma's hand, which prompts him to scratch behind her ear. She purrs recklessly.  

He sighs.

“Fine, you get one more strike…”

***

The boat gently sways as they head north. A cool breeze fills the crimson sails as Kenma grips the rudder, steering the boat towards the golden horizon. Kenma shields his eyes against the descending sun to his right. The first 3 days have been significantly easy— when compared to his first voyage— and they've been making good progress distance-wise. 

“If we keep this up, we might even get there earlier,” He smiles at Sumi, who is snuggled up around his feet on the deck, “I guess sailing isn't that bad.”

***

Kenma should really learn to shut up. 

Day 7 of his voyage, a minor storm came to humble him. It heaves the boat at dizzying angles— not enough to capsize him and Sumi, but enough to make him green in the gills and praying for relief— the winds rip at his hair and clothes, trying to drag him to its clutches. 

Securing the sails was a mission and a half, and that's not even mentioning the number of times the ropes have smacked Kemma square in the face. It's seriously getting old.

Poor Sumi is forced to escape the comfort of Kenma’s lap to shiver beneath the bench he's sitting on, her distressed whines adding to the sound of the whipping sails and crashing waves.

***

When the storm passes, he dozes to the gentle rocking of the now still water under the midday sun, jolting awake at dusk when Sumi pounces on his unprotected stomach.

“Never mind, sailing is still shit.” He groans out, and Sumi meows enthusiastically from her perch on his chest. Kenma assumes she agrees. 

***

By day 11, the sea is glassy and calm, and this time he's smart enough not to comment on the fact out loud, choosing to just enjoy it in silence instead. 

He's worked out a rhythm over these past few days— wake up, eat, check course probably, fish for Sumi, check course later or whatever, maybe sleep, rinse and repeat— and he was even able to find a way to attach the fishing net to the side of his boat— to Sumi's delight.

When night falls, he watches as the stars glitter and twinkle around the full moon, as wisps of clouds glide across them like a painter's brush on a canvas. The position of the bright star and its oppositely crossed friend tells him he's still on course. The water is so still that Kenma can't tell where the horizon starts and the sky ends, and he feels like he's floating alongside the glittering orbs above him, a warm body pressed against his thigh snoozing gently as Kenma breathes in the scent of the sea.

A memory resurfaces.

“What story would you like to hear before bed today, our little spark?” The soothing voice of his mother crooned at his bedside as his father tucked him into bed.

“The one about the stars, mama!” Giggles rippled throughout the young boy's chest as he snuggled himself comfortably in his blankets, embraced in the loving gaze of his parents. 

“You seem to like that one quite a bit,” His father laughed, loud, affectionate, and warm as he settled next to his mother, pressing himself against her side gently.

“Long ago, when the world was still young, the night was very, very dark, darker than the darkest piece of coal. Children everywhere were terrified, too scared to fall asleep without the constant comfort of their parents.” The boy clung to her every word as she brushed away a stray strand of hair from the boy's face before continuing. 

“So one day all the parents got together and lit silver lanterns, then using their love for their children, sent them high above the sky. Their devotion created the moon spirit. Awakened and moved by their love, she vowed to protect the lanterns they lit for as long as she stayed in the sky.” As his mother continued to tell the story, the boy slowly began to fight the call of sleep.

“To keep her promise, the moon turned the lanterns into ever-burning stars, and the parents’ love kept them shining to brighten up the scary night.” The mother shares a loving gaze with her husband. 

“Every time a child was frightened, the star their parents lit for them would glow just a bit brighter. That's why there are so many stars in the sky, because each one was lit by a parent to tell their child, ‘Don't be scared, I am here.’” The boy's mother smiled at her dozing child.

“And when you see a star fall, it's racing to comfort a child in the place of their parents.” She placed a loving kiss on the boy's forehead, whose eyes began to droop closed with a content smile.

“Our love for you also made you a star, so remember to look out for it when you're feeling scared.” The father concluded the story, and the boy finally closed his eyes, “Sweet dreams, my boy.” His father whispered as he blew out the lantern in his room.

Kenma feels a wetness on his face at the memory. With melancholy and grief warring in his chest, Kenma lets out a small wet chuckle as he wipes away his falling tears.

“What a time to remember that story, huh.” He sniffles a bit, “This is stupid, I'm crying over—.”

The moment he looks up, he sees two shooting stars and can't help but choke on a sob as a burst of laughter comes with fresh tears. 

“Thanks…” A smile spreads across his face as he closes his eyes for the night.

***

On day 16, Kenma and Sumi greet a pod of playful silver otters. 

They swim around and past the sailboat, occasionally splashing water their way. He watches Sumi try to paw at the few that jump up for bigger splashes— making sure she doesn't accidentally fall in.

If he cackles out a laugh or two, only Sumi would know.

***

The first cracks of lightning and thunder rattle Kenma to his core. Heavy rain forces him to squint his eyes for a semblance of working sight. Waves toss them around without a care, threatening to make them no better than sentient driftwood.

“Nooo, because of course this storm is worse— why wouldn't it get worse?!” He snarls, the ropes slippery with seawater and rain. A sharp sting blooms across his cheek when he loses his grip on the rope, and it snaps violently through the sleet.  

“I didn't even say anything this time! This is just unfair!” He complains to the dark, roaring skies as he fights to keep his boat upright, a lazy trickle of blood oozes from the cut the rope made. 

It's day 23 when his luck runs out, and the biggest “screw you and your weird ass cat ” storm attacks his boat.

Wind howls like an enraged animal. Occasional drops of hail pelts his skin like non-lethal cannon ammunition. Kenma does not like the sounds of the sailboat groaning and creaking under him like it just might splinter any moment.

A particularly violent wave crests and breaks over the side of the boat, and Kenma's body is thrown against the boat's tiller. Pain licks hot flames through his ribs, nerves screaming. Sumi cries, cowering beneath the onslaught of hail. He throws his shirt over her, shielding her shaking form with what little he can. He then positions her under his bench, locking his legs on either side of her to prevent her from being thrown.

“I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, just hold on, Sumi!” He can make out her trembling form under the makeshift coat he threw on her, “Just hold on!” He half pleads, half orders as his voice cracks.

The hail begins to plummet down in earnest now, thick sheets of ice pelt him from every angle, and Kenma curls forward to shield as much of his face as possible, grateful that he covered Sumi when he did. At least she won't feel the brunt of the hail now.

A sudden wave crashes broadside and nearly capsizes them. Kenma's stomach heaves as cold seawater slams into him, soaking him more than he thought was possible, causing the gash on his cheek to sting painfully. He chokes, coughing out the water that made it into his mouth and nose. Sumi yowls from underneath him. He wrestles with the tiller, trying to aim the vessel headlong into the waves to avoid capsizing into the churning ocean.

He continues to cough, salt burning his throat and nose. He holds a death grip on the ropes, his arms burn, and he can feel the rope cutting into the flesh of his hand and arm where it's wrapped tightly. Sumi whimpers beneath him. He will not fail her.

The storm lasts for hours. By the time it's over, the sail is frayed at the edges, they have lost their fishing net, and Kenma is thoroughly bruised and battered. He pants and heaves, hair tacky with salt and blood. Exhaustion racks his body, and his shoulders shake with the effort to stay upright. His lungs feel scraped and burnt, and his throat is shredded from screaming. 

Sumi wiggles out of her makeshift protection, not as completely soaked but clearly rattled as her claws have made harsh lines in the dark wood. She climbs up into his lap to lick at the purpling bruises along his side.

“Aww, it's okay, Sumi, they don't hurt too bad.” He says—you know, like a liar—  they throb terribly, his nerve endings sing and pulse in time with his heartbeat, each breath causing the pressure to increase. Sumi seems to pick up on it anyway, rubbing her head against his chest. 

He opens the sail, forcing his trembling hands to at least get that job done. They burn and sting where the rope touches the tender flesh, and he notices a thin layer of blood covering his hands. 

Rope burn. 

As the temperature drops, he raises his body heat to keep himself and Sumi warm.

“Cold means we're getting closer. Cold means we're getting closer.” He repeats like a mantra. He needs to be closer.

***

It is the next day that they finally, finally, see bergs and ice patches drifting in the water.

“I've never been so happy to see ice.” Kenma almost cries out. Sumi wakes cradled in her personal heat source, and Kenma shifts to give her space to stretch. 

Only for her to accidentally fall onto a drifting patch of ice.

“What did I say about throwing yourself overboard!” Kenma quickly grabs her scruff before she drifts too far, the action making the pain in his ribs throb through his torso. Clearly not understanding the gravity of the situation, Sumi playfully paws at the air near Kenma's face.

“I swear you're smarter than this…” He sighs, placing her back into the safety of his lap.

***

After 25 days at sea, Kenma begins to see vast, frost-covered glaciers and snowflakes slowly drift around him—Sumi has made it her personal mission to swat as many of them as possible. 

He navigates through towering glaciers and glistening icebergs, then pushes his boat onto the rocky shore near a cave. He walks a few paces up the beach before securing it in place. In the distance above the white trees, he can see a high stone wall covered in ice, sparkling like it's made of diamonds. Streams of smoke curl up over the walls to blend with the low-hanging clouds.

His sightseeing is cut short when a gust of wind reminds him that he is, in fact, in one of the coldest regions on the map, and he is severely underdressed. His shivering aggravates his injuries.

Kenma grabs Sumi, placing her under his right arm— away from his bruised side— and slings his bag over his left shoulder, biting his tongue when yet another bruise makes itself known.

“Into the cave we go.” He announces as he quickly makes his way to the cave— well, as quickly as his shaking legs can go.

Apparently dream cold can never prepare you for real cold.

When he enters the threshold of the cave, he's pleasantly surprised to see that it isn't housing some dangerous beast. Should he have thought about that possibility before clumsily dragging himself in? Yes, but it worked out, and he needs shelter from the wind, so he doesn’t care to think about the alternative any longer.

After putting Sumi down, she begins to shiver violently, and Kenma runs— read: limps moderately fast— out to grab the bare minimum amount of wood to light a fire.

His hands shake as he raises them to ignite the wood — from the cold? Fear? Trauma? Pain? He isn't sure until the memory of almost burning his tent— and by proxy Sumi— with his bending taunts him, then the memory of the execution curls its way through his mind and wraps itself around his heart, it haunts him. 

All of them. He's shaking because of all of them.

A whine from Sumi snaps him out of it, and he flicks his wrist, not looking at the gentle flame it creates. Sumi curls by his core, and he raises his body temperature to provide more warmth, her tremors subside.

He leans his face into her fur as she purrs, “We made it…” His voice cracks slightly as it drifts off. Then he achingly allows sleep to drag him under.

At least this place is relatively clean.

29 Hibakugatsu, 25 Days After The Voyage 

I am never taking Kuruk's word on what a ‘short boat ride’ is ever again. Never.

Chapter Text

30 Hibakugatsu, Day 1 In The North

If there's anything good about that trip, it is finding this remarkably clean cave. Even I know when to count my blessings.

“And that should be the last of it.” Kenma sighs as he secures the last of his bandages around his torso and chest, “That one from the tiller hurt like shit. I don’t think anything’s broken…”

Turns out falling asleep on the hard, cold stone floor of a cave without treating any of your injuries isn't a good idea. No matter how clean the cave appears to be.

“I should probably set up my tent and other supplies… ughhh!” Kenma flops down with his hand on his face. He is not looking forward to doing all that. Again. Sumi bats at his shoulder with her paw, clearly concerned about her human’s mopping. 

And promptly decides to start making biscuits on his chest to cheer him up.

Kenma sighs. 

***

Kenma spent the next 5 days slowly setting up his tent and supplies— and procrastinating setting up his tent and supplies. Then, once his bruises stop nagging him with aches and pain, he tries his first attempt at waterbending and… well.

“Make it easier for me, my ass!” He huffs, like a dragon whose immortal patience has worn as thin as the wisps of smoke from its nose.

He's standing at the mouth of what he assumes is a main river, the rocky beach is covered in pitch stones and seaglass, and the water glitters and shines brightly enough that he needs to look away every few minutes to avoid sunspots in his vision. Curled up in a blanket on a dry, sunny rock— well as sunny as the North can get at least— nearby, sits Sumi, who meows questioningly— or at least that's how it sounds to Kenma.

“Those old geezers said that being in a familiar place might help! This isn't helpi—!! I need to calm down.” He runs his hands roughly through his hair and takes a deep breath in, “Fine. Everything’s fine— I'll just try again.” He says in a much more controlled manner than he feels.

He tries to draw water from the river, and when he's met with not even a ripple in the frigid currents, he overcompensates. Again. This time, instead of the water splashing outwards, it slams straight into him, sending him sprawling to the smooth stones beneath his previously sturdy footing. Sumi hisses at the offending river but doesn't move from the safety of the blanket, growling low in her chest with suspicious, narrowed eyes.

“No, no, because this is just lovely.” He grits out a frustrated laugh as he slowly starts steaming. The stones beneath him are hissing and spitting as the water is removed from the air around him. His irritation bubbles under his skin, and then Kenma begins to feel jittery from all the pent-up energy. In a sudden uncharacteristic fit of rage, he hurls a stream of fire to strike at a nearby drifting iceberg, successfully it explodes with a cloud of powder and a rain of ice— which, consequently, makes all his injuries protest and scares Sumi into a hissing fit.

“Oww— shit— wait Sumi, I'm sorry I didn't mean to—.” He turns to soothe Sumi, only to see that she wasn't hissing at him at all, but in another direction.

A low chuckle is carried in the wind, further startling Kenma. He runs to grab Sumi to carry her in his arms, and he whips his head in the direction of the noise, water droplets flying out of his hair from his earlier attempts at waterbending. 

As he scans the white terrain, his eyes stop at a tall figure casually leaning against a tree, holding a fishing rod. He looks around Kenma's age and has an amused smile plastered on his face, like he was trying not to laugh at the scene in front of him. His hair is dark as a moonless night, and it's tousled— messy— like he rolled out of bed and barely ran his hands through it before deeming it good enough for the public.

He is in a blue winter suit and sealskin pants, covered in a white fur cloak made for traveling in this snowy climate. He has an air of carefree nonchalance as he observes Kenma, who is clearly stuck between all three trauma responses, as he awkwardly jerks and shuffles on his feet.

“That's an interesting cat you have there.” The stranger starts way too casually.

Smug.  

He clutches Sumi protectively as he stumbles to take a step back, only to abruptly stop when the movement sends a jolt of discomfort ringing through his ribs, reminding him of his previous tiller accident. 

“ …Not cat,” Kenma answers carefully, “Cloud Jumper. What do you want?” He tries to summon his best glare, but the adrenaline of meeting a person so suddenly promptly canceled any hope of a successful intimidation tactic.

The stranger raises his hands to better show that he's only armed with the fishing rod and an empty bucket, “Whoa there, man, relax, I'm not trying to fight.” He takes one step out of the shade of the tree he was leaning on.

“I come here to fish, and I assume that the tent in the cave is yours? You know, it's considered rude to take a guy's hideout like that.” He says, mouth twitching upwards in a show of humour— probably meant to put him at ease— a half-amused, half-curious tone probing but not pushing Kenma to reply, his posture relaxes ever so slightly. 

“How long have you been standing there?” Kenma asks carefully.

“Long enough to see at least two failed waterbending attempts and that fire attack.” Kenma tenses, debating if he should just run, fight, or just curl into a defeated ball with Sumi.

The stranger speaks up again. “I must say, I never expected the Avatar to be so full of rage.”

Run. Kenma should run.

“Aren't you supposed to be all about peace or something?” The stranger takes a moment to look at him, “Thought you'd be bigger too…” He murmurs, seeming to accidentally think out loud.

“It wasn't intenti— I'll just take my stuff and leave.” Kenma is willing to jump into the cold, unforgiving sea if it means getting away from this guy.

“Wait, wait, wait, I'm sorry,” The stranger frantically apologizes, “My name's Tetsuro Kuroo.” The introduction makes Kenma stop to turn to him.

“You looked like you were struggling, and I was just waiting to see how far you'd get before asking for help.” If Kenma hadn't already stopped walking away, that would've definitely stopped him in his tracks.

“You want to… help me?” 

“Well, you definitely need a change of clothes, you aren't dressed for this climate at all.” The strang— Kuroo's generosity throws him through so many metaphorical loops that Kenma wonders if he somehow has a concussion he isn't aware of.

“Come on, are you seriously not cold? Is that like a firebender thing?” Kuroo takes Kenma's lack of movement as a sign to walk over to him, “Besides that, if you come to the village, I'd be able to get you a teacher and a place to stay.”

“Village… teacher… place to stay…?” Kenma's starting to wonder if perhaps this guy is the one with the concussion.

“Yeah, you know a warm bed, food, someone that can help you not soak yourself in ice cold water, and give yourself pneumonia." Kuroo glances over to Sumi, who cranes her neck to get a better look at him, “A safe place for your… Cloud Hopper?”

Kenma looks down at Sumi, who's taken to slow blinking at Kuroo as she continues to observe him, and he sighs.

“Where is the village?” Kenma does like the idea of a more comfortable place for Sumi. Kuroo points in a direction where Kenma can just make out curling smoke streams.

“I don't know which direction you came from, but the main gate is in that direction,” He stops pointing, readjusts his hold on his fishing rod, “I can help you pack up and give you my cloak to cover up your clothes until I can give you something to change into.”

Kenma just continues to stare at him, and Kuroo doesn't hide the chuckle that escapes quickly enough, "Careful now, if you keep your mouth open like that, something might fly in.” Kuroo smiles as Kenma's jaw closes with an audible click.

Before he's fully processed anything, his camp is packed up, and he's following Kuroo to the village's main entrance, wrapped up in his cloak. 

Is this a trap?? Why's he helping a random firebender that he knows is the Avatar???

“Look alive— Ah, I'm sorry, what's your name?” Kuroo turns to ask.

“Kenma Kozume. But I… prefer Kenma.” He answers in a daze.

“Well then, Kenma, this is my place. Make yourself at home.”

When did we get here???

Kuroo gestures inside a small, cozy house. He's holding the door open as he waits for him to walk in. Sumi clearly gets the memo faster as she wriggles and flops out of Kenma's arms and trots into the house.

The place looks significantly warmer than his now-abandoned cave. It's carpeted and has a few fluffy rugs acting as decor— Sumi instantly claims the one closest to the yet-to-be-lit fireplace and promptly falls asleep. 

Tetsuro Kuroo's POV 2 Hours Earlier

“The trek here doesn't get any easier.” Tetsuro muses, his usual hideout finally in sight, “Can't wait to—”

“Eh?”

Three years and nothing has come to disrupt his peace here.

Until today. 

So he begins to analyze the scene.

Footprints, too small, so not mine. Too human-shaped to be an animal…

Unless it’s an animal wearing boots. 

He's careful in approaching the entrance and peers cautiously through it.

And yep… a campsite, someone's here… suspicious.

Noticing the remains of an ashen campfire, he corrects his last observation to the past tense.

I can't let someone just take my spot like that, so he follows the footprints all the way to his fishing spot.

My fishing spot too?? Just who does this person think they are?!

***

Well, ain't that a surprise…

Tetsuro leans against a tree as he watches a boy he's never met before— and that on its own is a great feat because he knows everyone in his village— try to waterbend and fail.

Miserably.

“Make it easier for me, my ass!” The mystery boy exclaims before continuing to complain to his cat for a bit.

But the weirdest part?

He's criminally underdressed. Covered in bandages, looking like some child's botched imitation of a firebender with his attire adorned in rabidly patched red and black underclothes as he… literally steams from frustration? 

What?

The boy tries again, gesticulating violently like he's picking a fight with the ocean, only to get soaked with water. Tetsuro cringes at that. He has fallen in this river enough times to know how cold it is, but before he can call out to the boy, he summons fire and destroys a sizable iceberg.

Tetsuro may not be a genius, but he’s not stupid either. 

Conclusions are drawn. 

There are only three people who can throw fire and even think to try to bend water after— so either this kid is the Avatar, God, or a spoiled kid whose parents told him he could do anything he put his mind to. 

But something doesn’t sit right about two of those possibilities.

Last he heard, the Fire Nation was busy tearing up the Earth Kingdom. And even if they're not, why would their Avatar be out here freezing his ass off alone, practicing waterbending like some toddler stomping rookie? 

None of it adds up.

Then he begins to hear low hissing.

There's a cat… does it have glider flaps? Huh.

He didn't mean to laugh, but the cat is just too cute, its face is all scrunched up, and its tail snaps wildly back and forth, so… floofy. Though looking up now, the boy doesn't seem very amused by his presence. Tetsuro tries to break the ice.

“That's an interesting cat you have there.”

The boy practically jumps a step back, but he doesn’t get far, like he's in pain somewhere, or judging by the healer's stash worth of bandaging, even everywhere— though he’s not close enough to be able to tell yet. 

The boy holds on to his cat protectively, “Not cat. Cloud Jumper.” 

“What d’you want?” He looks halfway between wanting to run away like a cornered cat and throw himself at Tetsuro, fists flying and hackles raised. 

Okayyy, no ice was broken, and I think the boulder bounced… violently, Tetsuro concludes.

Definitely not a good start, so Tetsuro tries to make himself look less threatening by showing him he's not armed.

They talk for a bit before Tetsuro makes a mistake— calling him small out loud wasn't on purpose, what can he say? He's an honest man— and the boy looks like he's contemplating running into the sea just to escape him. 

He can't have that— the boy's already drenched like an angry, soggy cat.

“Wait, wait, wait, I'm sorry. My name's Tetsuro Kuroo.” That seems to stop him, so Tetsuro then offers to help him a bit, to which the boy just… stares?

“You want to… help me?” 

Yeah, that's totally not concerning.

The more he talks, the more the boy stares at him like he’s growing extra heads. 

Seriously, I can't be much older than him. What happened to this kid?

Then Tetsuro really looks at him and doesn't like what he sees.

He has bags under his eyes, deep enough to press your fingers into and still see the dark bruising, and there's a tremble rattling his arms, and as they walk, he sees a slight limp in his step, too. His hair is a mess, sticking to his head awkwardly in some places and a bit frosted in others. He's covered in bandages— definitely self-applied by the direction of the visible wrappings. 

He's clearly not with the Fire Nation anymore if his observation skills are as good as he thinks they are— they are. 

“Where's the village?” The boy asks, while looking at his Cloud… Hopper? Leaper? Skipper? He makes a mental note to ask for the animal's name later. As he explains where the village is and his plan, he notices the boy— again— just staring at him, his mouth slightly open.

“Careful now, if you keep your mouth open like that, something might fly in.” Tetsuro teases with a smile, the boy pouts adorably, and continues to follow.

***

Saying that the boy has been following him is a generous way to describe his trance-like motions.

He hasn't spoken once since asking where the village is— not that Tetsuro minds, the boy clearly needs to process… something.

No one should be that shocked when someone offers them help, though he’s definitely not a leopard seal calling a porpoise violent.

When he gets to the gate, Tetsuro makes up some story about helping a friend of his from the neighboring village to get past Uncle Naoi, who's acting as today's watchman. 

It can't be considered lying if you think it's true. 

He makes it through the village with the boy in tow, excusing him from talking with passing people by telling them he's extremely tired and shy. It works because they make it to his place in record time.

“Look alive—,” It is now that Tetsuro embarrassingly realizes that he never got the boy's name, “I'm sorry, what is your name?”

That seems to snap the boy out of his trance-like state, “Kenma Kozume. But I… prefer Kenma.” He is meek in the way he says the last part, but Kuroo is never one to be stopped by shyness.

Might be anxiety, but I'll figure that out later, He sidelines.

“Well then, Kenma, this is my place. Make yourself at home.” He holds the door open for him, though it's his feline companion that walks in first like she owns the place, nose high and paws light as she crosses the threshold, while Kenma just stares at the door frame like he doesn't know how he got here.

This will be interesting, Tetsuro thinks as he lightly nudges Kenma to walk in.

5 Rekkagetsu, Day 6 in the North

I can't tell if my survival instincts need refining or if this guy's need to be established.