Work Text:
Some days, Zuko was convinced the universe existed solely to spite him.
Despite the forecast swearing on clear skies and mild weather, Zuko was soaked entirely to the bone, water seeping into each and every crevice of his clothing, and he still had twenty minutes before he reached his apartment.
It wasn’t even the worst rain he’d ever experienced—the Fire Nation wet season was not to be underestimated—but the Earth Kingdom rain was cold, and somehow that made it so much worse. It was as if the rain and the wind came together and decided to spend their day personally making Zuko’s life so much harder than it needed to be. How fucking nice of them. Zuko felt truly honored.
Zuko’s foot landed directly in a puddle, further soaking his already cold toes, and he let out a groan. Dammit, those shoes were new.
The loud roar of the monorail caught his attention, and he looked up in time to see a train cart rushing over the tracks above his head, soaring towards the next wall. For a moment, he regretted his decision to walk home, before his memory provided him with the image of his first and only trip on the monorail.
Zuko shuddered. How people managed to become that dirty was above him. You’d think people knew what showers were, in a city as grand as Ba Sing Se.
Yeah, no, he’d rather walk through the rain than experience that again.
Still, as Zuko continued to make his way through the winding streets of the Upper Ring, he faintly longed for the efficiently organized public transport of Caldera. Before moving here, he never thought he’d miss a bus stop, but life surprises you.
At least, he comforted himself, I don’t live in the Lower Ring.
At least the water trudging down the paved roads here wasn’t infested with the past weeks’ worth of trash and remains of every living thing in the area. Wouldn’t that be great.
Zuko was very happy with his little apartment in the Middle Ring. The water pressure might be shit, but at least he was mostly sure he wouldn’t catch a disease here, unlike the showers he’d seen a ring lower.
Huh, maybe that’s why those people don’t shower. Someone should really look into that.
Zuko turned the corner, and was finally graced with the view of the Wall Gate. With a new pep in his step, he jogged to the gate, where a pair of officers stood guard.
Wordlessly, he pulled out his Student ID from his bag, and presented it to the older of the two, who took it with the same amount of enthusiasm. The officer, who recognized the logo of Ba Sing Se University with ease, merely gave it a look-over.
“Law?” the officer asked, glancing up from the card before handing it back to Zuko, who grabbed it with a nod. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
The officers stepped aside, and Zuko passed through the gate and into the Middle Ring. From here, it was only a few minutes to his apartment, where he could finally take a shower and reconsider his life choices.
As soon as he reached his building, Zuko rushed to press in the code to the door. With the promise of a dry, warm building so close, he was ever more aware of the icy water dropping onto his head and pouring down his back. The keypad gave a small beep, before turning green.
The door to the building clicked open. Zuko grabbed it, taking a moment to glance over his shoulder, looking around at the empty street behind him, before pushing through the door and out of the rain.
With a groan, he dragged his seeping shoes up the stairs, inwardly cursing his decision to rent a third-floor apartment. It was taking every ounce of willpower he had to not just lay down on the cold, stone staircase of his crappy apartment block.
Finally arriving on his floor, Zuko practically threw himself at the door, fumbling with his keys and shoving the right one in the lock without an ounce of elegance. The door flew open, and he threw his shoes off in a single motion, not caring where they landed, before heading toward the kitchen.
But first, he stopped in the bathroom to take off his wet clothes. He might not care much about anything—the state of those clothes proved that much—but he was better than to trail rainwater through his entire apartment. While in the bathroom, he also took the opportunity to drag a towel over his body, getting rid of as much of the water as he could in one go.
Standing in the bathroom, cold and somehow still wet, what was even the damn point of a towel that didn’t work, Zuko decided to forgo his original plan of eating dinner first. The shower next to him, which promised him warm water and intentional drenching, was too great to pass up. The ache in his stomach could wait five minutes.
Zuko glanced at the shower.
Ten minutes.
Zuko dropped the towel to the ground and stepped into the shower. He turned the knob, and Zuko could actively feel the stress seep out of his cold, aching muscles as the boiling water hit his skin. A small noise of appreciation slipped past his lips, and he allowed himself to enjoy the comfort for a short moment.
Agni above, he could stay here forever. Why did he ever decide to do something with his life? He didn’t remember ever having to rush a shower back in Caldera.
But after a few minutes of simply standing silently with his head tilted back, he forced himself to actually clean. Dragging shampoo through his long hair was an exhausting task, and he was suddenly grateful for all the time he wasted on training arms at the gym.
Finally, after giving himself the generous luxury of double-shampooing and actually using his loofa to wash, he shut off the water and stepped out of the shower.
He picked the towel back up from the floor, groaning slightly at the wet patches left behind from earlier, and wiped himself down before throwing it around himself, tying it at the waist.
As he straightened, he caught a glance of the mirror and paused, locking eyes with himself.
Agni, he looked terrible.
The bags under his eyes, which he had reluctantly accepted after his first semester, had sunk deeper, etching sharp lines on his face. His skin, already pale, was dull and covered in speckles, and he could see the veins around his eyes. And his eye... he knew it was bad; he saw it every day, but—
He shook the thought away, dropping his hand down to his side and tearing his gaze away from the left side of his face. It’s been seven years; you’d expect him to be used to it by now.
Silently, he left the bathroom, flicking off the light switch behind him.
He wandered over to his kitchen—well, if the tiled corner of his living room deserved that title. Honestly, the layout was plenty efficient. He didn’t have to waste opening doors, lucky him.
Pulling open the fridge, Zuko was met with the familiar sight of around five items and six empty shelves, and he closed it again with a sigh. Instead, he yanked open the drawer next to it, and grabbed a box out of his emergency stash of instant noodles.
His mind was still foggy from his shower as he filled a pan with water, pressing two fingers against the metal to heat it up. He really needed to buy a kettle. Using bending for his instant noodles was a new low he didn’t think he’d reach.
He poured the water into the box, and as the scent of cheap noodles filled the kitchen, Zuko took a deep breath, savoring the scent and hyping himself up for the sure-to-be-disappointing meal.
His phone dinged.
Zuko looked over to where it lay on the small dining table, his dinner forgotten. He watched as the screen lit up with a message. The tension was back, tight in his shoulders and restricting his breathing.
He glanced down at the noodles, hesitating for a moment, before reaching over to grab the device and read the message.
Iroh
Missed call
Zuko cursed.
For a long moment he simply stared at the screen.
Iroh’s contact, seeming far too bright against the dark background, stared back at him. Zuko’s thumb hovered over the notification, hesitant. He should call back now. He should call back.
Instead, he clicked off the phone, letting the screen go dark, and laid it down face-first on the table.
Later.
His food had already started to soften. A minute more and the noodles would start to turn into an unappetizing mush, and as much as he loved his uncle, instant noodles were already far too expensive and far too bland, and a phone call was not worth letting them turn soggy.
Zuko picked up the steaming cup and a pair of chopsticks before retreating back to his bedroom, nudging the door with his foot until it shut behind him with a click.
The state of his bedroom wasn’t much better than the rest of his apartment. An unmade twin bed was shoved into one corner, a cramped desk in the other. Said desk was buried under piles of law textbooks, stray papers, half used notebooks, and a variety of unfinished assignments. It wasn’t exactly his pride and joy.
He carefully pushed a pile of textbooks to the side, creating just enough room to place down his noodles. Settling on his chair, Zuko took the first bite of his noodles.
They were... fine.
That was a lie. They were as plain as he’d expected.
The rain continued to pour outside, pattering on the singular window in his room, muted by the glass. For the first time since he arrived home, there was nothing to fill the silence of the apartment. Nothing to distract Zuko.
He took another bite, and looked over at the door.
Behind that door, just a few steps away, lay his phone.
He looked away and took another bite. Swallowed. They were dry. He needed to buy new noodles; these had been in the cupboard too long.
He looked back at the door.
Agni, he hated this.
Uncle never called without reason. Sure, the occasional text, asking after him. How his studies were going, reminding him to eat something with nutrients, asking after his social life... He rarely called.
This wasn’t going to end well.
He shoveled more noodles into his mouth, trying and failing to focus on the taste. By the time he looked back down, half the noodles were gone. He barely remembered eating them.
Zuko sighed. He dropped his chopsticks into the box, leaving the half-eaten noodles on his desk as he shoved off the chair, crossing the room in a heartbeat.
He could keep pretending the missed call didn’t exist, but all that would achieve was an evening of him wondering why Uncle even called in the first place. He might as well get it over with.
His phone is exactly where he left it, lying on the table. He doesn’t know why he’d expected it not to be.
Grabbing the device, he leaves himself no room for hesitation, opening the phone and finding Uncle’s contact in a second. He waited, just for a moment, before pressing the call button and lifting his phone to his ear.
It rang once.
Twice.
“Zuko?” Uncle’s voice rang through the phone, as warm and gentle as Zuko remembered. “I’m so glad you called back.”
Zuko swallowed. “Hey.”
There was a small pause, before Uncle’s voice continued, steady as always. “How’s it going over there? I know we haven’t called in a while. Still doing law?”
“Yes, Uncle,” he grumbled, tapping his finger against his thigh as he sent a glance over at the clock on the wall. Just past seven. Uncle’s calls lasted fifteen minutes at average.
“Good, good. Make any new friends lately? Any special lady friend I should know about?” Uncle’s voice became slightly teasing.
“No, Uncle. You would’ve heard.”
“Well, you have enough time.” It sounded like Uncle was moving around. The shuffle of papers on wood. “Are you keeping up with your classes? I know the last few weeks were stressful.”
“I’m fine, Uncle.” Zuko exhaled sharply. “Why did you really call?”
“What, I can’t just take a moment to speak to my favorite nephew?”
“I’m your only nephew, Uncle. And you’re the Crown Prince; you must be busier than that.”
The line went silent. Zuko lifted his phone away for second, but, no, Uncle hadn’t hung up. The pause stretched for one second, then two, before Uncle spoke again.
“You’re right.” Another shuffle of paper. “You’ve always been too perceptive.”
Zuko flinched.
“Your father has been stirring up the courts.” Zuko’s breath hitched slightly, and his grip tightened around the phone. “Since the recent press reports concerning the new non-bender quota proposition, several ministers have started voicing their objections, and your father appears to be at the center of it.”
Zuko inhaled, breathing in through his nose. “Do we need to be worried?”
“Not at the moment.” Uncle let out a soft sigh. “Ozai is impulsive, but he’s smart enough to keep his loyalties hidden.”
“For now,” Zuko muttered, closing his eyes and trying to steady himself. “What now?”
“I wouldn’t worry too much, Nephew. Enjoy your studies,” Uncle replied, the serious tone leaving his voice. “After all, a storm is easiest to fear when on the horizon.”
“You know I never understand your proverbs, Uncle.”
A deep chuckle echoed through the phone. “Stay safe, Nephew.”
“I will.” Zuko moved to hang up, but just as his thumb hovered over the red symbol, his uncle spoke again.
“Oh, and Zuko—” Zuko waited, still ready to hang up. “—keep a close eye on it. It seems your father is reevaluating his priorities.”
Zuko glanced back over at his bedroom, his skin clammy. “I will, Uncle.”
“Alright. Have a good night, Nephew.”
“You too.”
The line went silent, and Zuko took a deep breath. His exhale was laced with flames.
For several long seconds, Zuko just stood there in the middle of his apartment, phone in hand. The rain continued to hit the windows, and it grounded him, just a little.
He shoved his phone in his back pocket. It seemed heavier than before.
“Great...”
He thought back to his noodles, which he had left behind on his desk, half-eaten. They’d probably gone cold by now. He should throw them away before they start to smell bad.
Zuko stayed where he was.
Your father is reevaluating his priorities. The sentence lay heavy in Zuko’s stomach, and he was suddenly grateful he hadn’t eaten much.
With a shaking breath, he crossed the room, where he slid open the balcony door to step outside. A biting gust of wind and rain hit him in the face, but it did little to wake him up. He grabbed the hand crank, turning it sharply to pull out the awning, which spared him some of the rain.
He leaned forward against the damp railing, fishing out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He took a moment to breathe in the rain-soaked air, before tapping out a cigarette and placing it between his lips. A flick of his forefinger summoned a tiny flame, and he hovered it over the end. The cigarette caught immediately.
He took a deep drag, savoring the burn in his throat.
For the first time since he saw that message, his head quieted.
For over an hour, he stood on his balcony. Cigarette after cigarette disappeared from the pack, but he can’t bring it in himself to stop. In the distance, he heard the faint roar of the monorail, sending trains in and out of the Middle Ring. Faintly, he counted down the minutes until the gates would close and the monorails would fall silent.
This—being completely alone, breathing in the smoke that his Uncle insisted was bad for him, that his other family said was pathetic—was one of the few things he appreciated about Ba Sing Se. The relative silence in this little corner of the world was peaceful.
He didn’t have to worry about much, here. Not until Ozai decided he was done waiting.
And, according to Uncle, that moment was still far in the distance. Zuko just hoped it stayed there.
Zuko took another drag, tapping out the end of the cigarette on the railing and watching the small fragments of ash curl in the wind.
His phone buzzed in his back pocket.
Zuko dropped the cigarette, and it fell to the street below.
Yanking the device into view, Zuko’s eyes widened as the message popped up.
Unknown
need ur help. meet tmrw at fpur stones cafe. noon
煙
The pouring rain slammed into the tarps strung up in the narrow alleyway. The faint smell of trash, stagnant water, and neglected Lower Ring streets filled the air, muted slightly by the smell of the rain. In the shadows of the alley, a lone figure huddled closer to the wall, hissing as the tarp bent above her, dropping icy water onto her head.
“Oma and Shu, help me now,” the figure grumbled, wiping her sleeve across her face. With her other hand, she clutched at the burner phone, which remained silent.
She hoped the message had gone through. She hoped it was coherent. The cheap phone had no speech to text, so she’d had to feel out the buttons and make a few lucky guesses.
A small ping echoed through the alleyway. He’d answered. She couldn’t read the message.
Toph just hoped he’d show up.