Chapter Text
The first thing you noticed was not the tiredness.
You knew tired. You had known long days that stretched into longer nights, the kind that settled into your bones and made everything feel slower. This was not that. This was sharper. Thinner. Like a thread pulled too tight inside your chest.
You were irritated.
Not loudly. Not in a way that made sense. Just… there. Lingering.
The morning light filtered softly through the open windows, warm and gold against the stone walls. The air carried the faint scent of heat and ash from somewhere deeper in the palace, something familiar and grounding. It should have been comforting.
Instead, the quiet pressed in on you.
You sat cross-legged on the cushions, turning a small cup slowly between your hands. It was empty. You had already finished your tea, though you could not remember drinking it.
Across from you, Sokka entered like a burst of movement, as he always did. He pushed the door open with his hip, balancing a small plate in one hand with unnecessary dramatics.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he announced, already smiling. “I bring offerings.”
You looked up at him. At the plate.
One peach.
Just one.
You stared at it for a second too long, something prickling under your skin.
“You brought me one peach.”
The words came out flat. Not angry. Just… unimpressed.
Sokka froze mid-step, eyes widening as if you had just deeply insulted his entire lineage.
“Wow,” he said, drawing the word out with theatrical offense. “I go out of my way, risk life and limb, traverse the dangerous wilderness that is the palace kitchen, and this is the thanks I get?”
You blinked at him.
“It’s one peach.”
“It’s a good peach,” he insisted, setting the plate down in front of you like it was something sacred. “Look at it. That is a confident peach.”
You did not mean to snap. You really did not.
“It’s still just a peach, Sokka.”
The silence that followed was brief but noticeable.
Sokka’s expression shifted, just slightly. Not hurt. Not upset. Just… thrown.
And immediately, regret hit you.
It softened everything in an instant.
Your shoulders dropped, and you let out a small breath, rubbing at your temple.
“I’m sorry,” you said, quieter now. “I didn’t mean that.”
Sokka studied you for a moment, then his expression eased. He waved a hand like he was brushing it off.
“Hey. It’s okay, baby,” he said, gentler this time. “I’ve survived worse criticism. Remember that time you said my stew tasted like regret?”
You huffed a small laugh despite yourself.
“That was accurate.”
“Rude,” he said, but there was no bite to it. He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head as he passed behind you.
Across the room, Zuko sat at the low table, a scroll unrolled in front of him. He had been quiet through the whole exchange, though you knew better than to think he had not been listening.
He rarely missed anything.
Without looking up, he spoke.
“It was a very confident peach.”
The words were dry, almost absentminded, but there was something faintly amused beneath them.
Sokka snorted.
“Thank you,” he said, pointing at Zuko. “Finally, someone with taste.”
Zuko hummed softly, still not lifting his gaze.
You picked up the peach, turning it in your hands. It really was a good one. Perfectly ripe, soft beneath your fingers.
Your irritation had not fully gone away, but it had dulled, softened at the edges.
You took a bite.
It was sweet. Juicy. Better than you expected.
Sokka watched you like he was waiting for a verdict.
“Well?” he asked.
You chewed slowly, then glanced at him.
“…It’s a good peach.”
He beamed.
“I knew it.”
Zuko finally looked up then, just briefly, his eyes flicking toward you. It was quick. Easy to miss if you were not used to him.
But you were.
There was something there. Something quiet and searching.
You frowned slightly, though not at him. At yourself.
The irritation still lingered, faint and persistent. You shifted where you sat, adjusting your weight, but nothing quite settled right.
Sokka noticed.
He always noticed.
“You okay?” he asked, softer now.
You hesitated.
“I’m fine,” you said, though the words felt a little hollow.
Zuko’s gaze returned to his scroll, but you could feel the way his attention stayed half on you. Present. Steady.
The room fell into an easy rhythm after that.
Sokka moved around, talking about something he had seen earlier, hands moving as he spoke. You only half listened, letting the sound of his voice fill the space. Zuko occasionally responded, short, dry remarks that pulled a grin out of Sokka every time.
It was normal.
It should have felt normal.
But something still felt… off.
You shifted again, pressing your palm lightly to your stomach without thinking. It was not a conscious gesture. Just instinct.
Zuko noticed that too.
Of course he did.
His voice cut gently through the conversation, not interrupting, just redirecting.
“Have you eaten enough?” he asked.
You blinked, looking over at him.
“I had tea.”
“That’s not an answer,” he said.
Sokka leaned against the back of the cushions, crossing his arms.
“Wow, look at that,” he said. “I bring you fruit and suddenly I’m not the favorite anymore.”
You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat behind it.
“You were never the favorite.”
“Unbelievable,” he muttered.
Zuko’s lips twitched, just slightly.
You took another bite of the peach, slower this time.
“I’ll eat more later,” you said.
Zuko studied you for a moment, then gave a small nod. He did not push.
He rarely did.
But the awareness remained. Quiet. Steady.
The conversation drifted again, lighter now. Sokka launched into a story about something ridiculous, acting it out halfway through, and you found yourself smiling despite the lingering tension in your chest.
At some point, you leaned back into the cushions, your head tipping slightly as you watched them.
Sokka was animated, expressive, his hands moving as he spoke. Zuko sat more still, but there was an ease to him that had not always been there, something softer in the way he looked at Sokka when he thought no one was paying attention.
You were paying attention.
You always were.
There was comfort in that. In them.
Even now, with something unsettled inside you, that part stayed steady.
You exhaled slowly, your fingers brushing absentmindedly over your stomach again.
Zuko’s gaze flicked down this time. He did not hide it.
His expression shifted, almost imperceptibly.
Curious. Thoughtful.
Careful.
He set his scroll aside without comment and shifted closer, not crowding you, just enough that his presence was there.
Grounding.
His hand came to rest over yours.
Warm.
You stilled slightly at the contact, then relaxed into it without thinking.
Sokka’s voice softened as he trailed off mid-story, his attention catching on the movement.
He looked at the two of you, at where Zuko’s hand rested over yours, over your stomach.
Something in his expression changed.
Not concern.
Not worry.
Just… quiet.
The room seemed to settle around that moment.
No one said anything.
They did not need to.
Zuko’s thumb brushed lightly against your hand, absent and gentle.
Sokka shifted closer on your other side, his presence warm and familiar.
The irritation inside you had not disappeared.
But it felt… smaller.
Less sharp.
Held between them, the quiet no longer pressed quite so hard.
And neither of them moved away.