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You fidget with the hem of your shirt as you walk. You’re heading to Toph’s living quarters on the Academy grounds. You know where it is, but have never actually been inside it. She has invited you over for tea and to just hang out. It has been about a week since your first date (and that head-spinning makeout session), and you can’t help but feel nervous, even still.
It’s obvious Toph likes you - as guarded as she may be with her emotions, she’s still blunt about what she wants - but you still have that lingering doubt in the back of your mind. A niggling worry that, at any moment, you could make a wrong move and screw everything up. You really like Toph. A lot. And you’re terrified of being “too much,” or being seen as trying to move too fast.
Your eyes squeeze shut for a second, trying to shake the memory of a past unrequited love. You had misread signs back then. You had scared them off, it seemed. They weren’t even into women. Stupid, you reprimand yourself. Then you scold yourself again, for allowing the thought to even be dwelled on.
Toph’s different, you argue. For one thing, even if she’s not into women, she’s into you. That should be all that matters.
Before you know it, you’ve arrived at her door. You hesitate for a second, giving your nerves time to leave your body. However, before you can even lift your hand to knock, the door opens.
“Just in time, Tumble, the tea’s ready,” Toph says. She smirks at your startled silence. “I heard your footsteps,” she adds as explanation, giving you a swift kiss in greeting.
Of course.
What she doesn’t tell you is how she anxiously awaited your arrival, debating if opening the door too soon would appear too eager, or if waiting until you knocked would appear too blasé. If you had had the sensitive seismic sense she possessed, you would have noticed her heartbeat pick up its pace.
You walk into her space, taking it in. It was simple. Humble. You always knew Toph, despite coming from extreme wealth, preferred to live minimally. She found comfort in the simple pleasures rather than the grandiose. The entrance led into the living room, with the kitchen to the right. Instead of a regular couch or chair, there was a tatami base with a futon sat against the wall, draped in blankets and pillows, small side tables on either side. Almost every other surface was stone, including the floor. Not surprising.
What was surprising was what was in front of the lounge area. A television. Aside from the obvious, it was surprising to see because it was still a very new technology that few had in their homes. It was the only item of obvious luxury in the place.
“Huh . . .,” you accidentally let slip.
You hear a chortle behind you as Toph closes the door. “The television, right?”
“Uh . . . !” you feel your face flush, embarrassed. You frantically think of something else to comment on. “No, the . . . the seating arrangement! It’s different.”
She snickers, but humours you. “What can I say? I like being close to the ground. I can always tell what’s going on around me. My bed’s the same way, I dunno how anyone can sleep on those floating marshmallows.”
You laugh, your stomach doing a ridiculous flip at the mention of a bed. Grow up! you scold yourself again.
“But seriously, the television can be nice background noise, and sometimes I get the news that way,” she shrugs.
You laugh nervously. “Makes sense. It’s cool, I haven’t really seen a personal one.”
She nods towards the seating area. “Go ahead and get comfy, I’ll bring the tea.”
You reach the futon and awkwardly sit. You’re not sure how casual you should lay; should you take up as little space as possible, to give her room, if she wanted, or should you just sit normally to show how definitely calm and not nervous you still are? You settle on staying close to an edge, one arm propped on a pillow, leaning back on the others. You can’t help but notice how nice the blankets and pillows smell. They smell like her . . .
Toph comes back with two cups and a pot of jasmine tea. She sets the pot and your cup on the side table closest to you. To your pleasant surprise, she comfortably settles in close with her own cup. Her shoulder and leg are pressed against yours. You can feel how warm she is.
Hanging out comes effortlessly. You both talk, drink, and banter as easily as ever, even with the subtle undercurrent of nervous tension. Before you even know how it happened, she has an arm draped across your waist, her face comfortably nuzzled into your shoulder, your hand she’s laying on gently rests on her head. A content smile on her lips. With only brief hesitation, you begin stroking her hair as you both continue to talk. She immediately melts into you, almost instinctively.
Her hair is incredibly soft, which is almost surprising, considering how often Toph is covered in dust and dirt from training. You absently run your fingers through her hair as there’s a small moment of silence.
“ . . . Mm.”
You momentarily freeze at the contented sound. Your heart swells at the realisation that Toph has allowed herself to be completely unguarded while with you. Usually, she acted like someone who always expected the world to need something from her.
“Someone’s comfy,” you tease, continuing your flow through her soft strands.
“Don’t ruin it.”
“I meant me. But you did make a happy sound.”
“I’ll deny it.”
“Can’t deny audio evidence.”
“No other witnesses.”
You laugh. You feel her tighten her hold around your waist. “I really like your laugh,” she murmurs, almost to herself.
You can feel your face flush, and you’re not quite sure what to say. You continue to gently comb through her hair. Then your fingers accidentally brush the edge of her ear.
She jerks. Not violently, but enough to give you pause.
“Oh - sorry, did I hurt you?” you ask softly.
“No.” The answer comes too fast.
“You sure? You practically jumped.”
“I definitely didn’t.”
You blink, quiet for a second, thinking. Then . . . very carefully, you lightly brush her ear with your fingertips again.
Toph inhales sharply.
Oh.
Oh.
You stop moving, a mischievous smile forming on your face.
“Toph . . .,” you say slowly.
“No.”
“You’re sensitive there.”
“That’s funny because I’m not.”
Her voice sounds tight. Defensive. Which means you’re completely correct.
“You got flustered,” you say, trying not to laugh.
“Nope!”
You laugh softly. Toph never gets flustered. Seeing her this way is almost too much for you to handle maturely. You’re simultaneously amused and enamoured with this discovery. This time, your fingers gently grab her earlobe, your thumb lightly caressing. She clutches at the middle of your shirt, burying her face deeper into your shoulder.
“. . . You’re unbelievable,” she grumbles.
“Do you hate this?”
“No . . .,” she mutters. “I hate that you noticed.”
You grin. You see her face has acquired a slight rosy complexion.
“You’re blushing.”
“You can’t prove that.”
“Your ears are warm.”
“Spirits . . . ”
You shift slightly, tilting your head towards hers. You plant a soft kiss just beneath her ear. She tenses, letting out a shaky breath, the hand clutching your shirt briefly tightens.
“Oh,” you whisper.
“Shut up.”
“That really affects you.”
“You’re banned from talking.”
You kiss the spot again. Teasing. Lingering.
She actually shivers. You can feel it run through her, impossible for her to cover up. She buries her face in your neck, as if trying to hide.
“You’re evil,” she groans. You can feel her lips brushing your neck as she speaks.
You laugh again, but go back to stroking her hair.
“That’s really cute,” you smile.
“Take it back.”
“No.”
“Don’t get smug about it.”
“I would never.”
“You’re smiling, I can hear it.”
“Oh, absolutely I am.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yeah . . .,” she mutters into your neck. “That’s kind of the problem.”
The warmth that spreads in your chest is nearly overwhelming. Your other hand cups her face, and you place one last kiss onto her ear. Gentle. Affectionate. There’s no teasing this time, you just genuinely find it charming.
She tilts her head up slightly, kissing just beneath your jawline. “You can’t tell anyone about this,” she grumbles.
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“Sokka especially. If he finds out I have a weakness he can taunt me for, I’ll have to kill him.”
“Seems a little extreme.”
“It’d be warranted.”
You chuckle, and you both stay silent, simply enjoying each other’s touch and presence. You go back to languidly running your fingers through her hair. Soon, you notice something has changed. Her breathing has deepened. The hand clutching your shirt has slackened.
You slowly turn to look at her face. She’s asleep. She looks younger, somehow, when she’s sleeping. Softer. Still strong, but . . . unguarded and completely relaxed. Her hair is slightly messy where your fingers have run through it.
Your heart melts. Because sleep means trust. It means vulnerability. It means letting someone stay close when all your defences are down. There’s a difference in the trust of sleeping together in a camp, and sleeping right next to someone.
You smile to yourself, trying not to move much, completely enjoying the intimacy of the moment. You carefully rest your cheek against the top of her head. Your eyes begin to droop, and you’re feeling yourself begin to doze off as well. Then, half-asleep, Toph murmurs something. So quiet, you almost miss it.
“Don’t go far . . . ”
Your chest tightens. You place a soft kiss on her forehead, whispering, “I won’t.”
She makes a small noise of approval and settles even closer. As if your voice alone was enough to reassure her that everything was okay. That she was safe.
And there, in the darkening living room, with Toph Beifong asleep in your arms, and trusting you enough to stay there, you realise . . . This may be the safest you have ever felt, too.