AleBrasil

—I don't understand any of this.

—What?

—Why did he kill himself? On Sunday, we went to the movies to watch The Human Centipede.

—What kind of lunatics watch that disgusting movie? —She frowned in disgust and closed her bento. —You've completely ruined my appetite.

—It looks pretty good. It's a shame you're going to let it get cold.

—Eat it.

—Itadori, I strongly recommend that you forget about this. He killed himself because he was being severely bullied.

—Megumi, have some compassion for the guy.

—I'm just stating the facts. —He pointed at Yuuji with his chopsticks. —I know what you're like, and you're going to get yourself into trouble.

—No... I won't. —He spoke with his mouth full, making Nobara look away.

—Don't talk with your mouth full. You're so disgusting.

—You do it too!

—What? Don't be a liar! —She growled angrily. —A beautiful girl like me has impeccable manners.

—You've got witch manners. —He whispered angrily before Kugisaki snatched the bento away from him. —I didn't bring lunch today.

—That's your problem, isn't it? Weren't you the one calling me a witch?

—Come on, Nobara, don't be like that.

Nobara moved the bento away from the pink-haired boy. Yuuji looked at her with puppy-dog eyes and tried to move closer to get his food. With a sigh, she handed the borrowed bento back to him.

—And what are you planning to do?

—I have two good friends who will help me. You don't need to worry, Megumi.

—That sounds like trouble.

—No, it doesn't. He's a professional lawyer and his secretary.

—What's the lawyer's name? —Nobara asked with interest. —Is he handsome?

—Is he handsome? —He ate some rice while thinking. —I wouldn't know what to tell you. Still, it seems like he's dating his secretary.

—Oh, wow. Married couples are the ones I hate the most.

—And his name?

—Higuruma Hiromi and Y/N.

—He's a controversial lawyer. They talk badly about him on television, on social media, and even through word of mouth. Being around him or people involved with him will only lead you down a dead-end road of trouble.

—Megumi, I'm not going to let myself be swayed by what other people say. I'll meet them myself and form my own opinion of them. People are cruel; they attack and criticize everything that's different from them. —He closed his eyes. —Junpei wasn't a weirdo. He knew a lot about movies and loved his mother very much; he helped me understand complicated parts of movies. He was fun to be around.

Itadori became melancholy. Nobara shot Fushiguro an annoyed look. That alone was enough for him to understand that she was reprimanding him for his lack of empathy toward the owner of their mutual friend's grief.

—Well, he's attractive. He dresses well and has this cool melancholic aura; however, he looks like a grumpy old man. What a shame. —She leaned against Itadori and looked at him. —I'm sure you'll go far with them, and you'll learn something along the way. If you need anything, just tell me.

—Whoa, really? —he asked, more cheerful. —You're not as much of a witch as you seem.

—And what's with you calling me a witch all of a sudden?

The bento was snatched away again. Megumi smiled subtly at the scene before looking down from the rooftop. The area was still cordoned off, looking like it would remain that way for quite some time.

Y/N was going through Hiromi's law books while he was out buying food. She flipped through the pages, and it wasn't just that she didn't understand a thing they said; she was also staring at Hiromi's notes, surprised by the smooth, straight strokes of his handwriting, as well as how clearly he laid everything out.

—I picked up some things I thought would taste good. —he said before looking at Y/N in surprise. —You didn't have to read that. They're university textbooks.

—Why do you circle November 15th?

—Uh... It's nothing special. Exams. —He set the bag of konbini groceries down. —Pick whatever you want first.

—Do you always have exams on November 15th?

—Not exams. It's just a stupid habit.

She picked up an onigiri and looked at it carefully to figure out what filling it had. Then she looked away. Higuruma picked up his can of coffee and opened it, trying to change the subject.

—You're lying.

—I'm not lying.

—You're hiding something from me.

—That's different from lying. Did you know I could sue you for defamation, miss?

—I'm not going to flirt with you if you're hiding things from me. —She turned the chair around, giving him her back. She took a bite of her onigiri. —I'll hide things from you too.

—Something happened on that date. —He turned her chair around so she was facing him. —Something painful. Did you ever witness a classmate's suicide?

—No. Never. You?

—No. Never.

He rolled his eyes and turned away so he wouldn't have to look at her, but she stopped him in time. Y/N looked at him, waiting for an explanation. Higuruma frowned, leaned back in his chair, and covered his face.

—Back in middle school. I had a friend... An otaku.

—Didn't you say you didn't know anything about anime?

—I already told you I knew about it. I just didn't watch it.

—Kinji does.

—I know. Should we eat?

—Hiromi, you have to tell me everything.

—They made fun of him, especially when he suggested putting on a play based on an anime for Cultural Week. The teachers looked the other way while his classmates made his life miserable.

—What idiots! —she exclaimed, frowning. —Everyone has different tastes, and they should be respected. Period.

—Yeah... Yeah... —He nodded. —Let's eat now.

—Your friend?

—Uh... —Hiromi looked Y/N in the eyes. —No. Well, yes. No.

—It's okay. —She placed a hand over his. —You don't have to force yourself to tell me.

—It's not that. It's just... I'm scared... That you'll hate me.

—And why would I?

—In bullying cases, people tend to look the other way.

—Don't blame yourself, Hiromi. You couldn't have done anything.

—I looked the other way. —He lowered his gaze, unable to bear the look of disappointment on Y/N's face. —First it was the teachers, then everyone else. Before I knew it, I distanced myself to avoid becoming a victim or getting into trouble. I wasn't like Itadori. It seems he didn't abandon his friend. I'm sorry. I'm sure I've disappointed you.

—No. You haven't. Hiromi, we can't know how we'll act in certain situations. You didn't do the right thing either, but the fact that you regret it says a lot about you. You should forgive yourself.

—No. I was guilty.

—Not acting and simply looking the other way makes you an accomplice too. —They said it at the same time. However, they said it with different tones: Y/N wasn't blaming Hiromi, while he felt like the bad guy.

—Yes.

—Now you can do something. You won't have to do it alone; I'm here.

He looked up in surprise; he'd never heard those words from anyone before. Y/N blushed when she noticed Hiromi leaning toward her. Their lips brushed; just as they were about to kiss, the doorbell rang.

—Well. Someone's here. —Higuruma pulled away, blushing.

—It must be Itadori. I'll get it.

—Oh, right. Right... Why is he coming during lunchtime?

—Lunchtime was hours ago. It's six in the evening.

—It's that late and we haven't eaten? —He made her sit down. —Eat, eat plenty. I'll get the door.

Nobara was waiting outside the school, swinging her backpack back and forth. When Megumi came out, she waved at him. Fushiguro took one earbud out.

—Why were you waiting for me?

—No. I wasn't waiting for you. I finished my club.

—I thought you weren't in one.

—It's mandatory. I am in one. It's just that sometimes I skip the activities. I thought we could walk home together.

—You live on the other side of town from me. Why don't you wait for Itadori and go home with him?

—Why are you so against it? —she asked, annoyed as she walked beside him. —I'll go buy some things near where you live.

—I'm not against it. Do whatever you want.

—Of course I will. Do you think I'm going to ask for your permission?

Megumi simply shrugged. Nobara looked away and tucked a strand of her brown hair behind her ear.

—Megumi...

—What? —he asked, confused.

—On the rooftop, it seemed like you knew something.

—I know a lot of things.

—Cut the bullshit. If you know something about Junpei's case, tell Itadori. It's obvious he's suffering. Friends are supposed to help their own; keeping quiet makes you just as complicit as the bullies.

Nobara stopped, and Megumi did too. Silence fell between them. He turned to look at Nobara, his brow furrowed.

—I don't know what movie you've made up in your head, but I have nothing to do with it.

—I didn't accuse you. I'm just telling you that doing nothing is just as bad as being the one causing the pain. —She sighed. —I'm leaving.

—What about your shopping?

—I would never shop there. It's such a tacky area.

With that, Nobara walked away. Megumi put his earbuds back in and continued toward the station, his gaze fixed on the ground as he clenched the fabric inside his pockets in anger.

✨ Banner designed by @alebrasil0101 for this story ☺️.

you chuckle awkwardly from the other end. "just her, attorney," you explain, "and it's just the two of us, so..."

he sets his shock and curiosity aside as he nods. "is that so? yes, you can bring her here. just make sure she won't disturb the others."

"thank you, attorney. i'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"don't apologize. i understand your circumstances."

after the line dies, hiromi stares at the caller id. for the three years he's had you as his secretary, he realized just how much he does not know you outside office walls.

you two work seamlessly together—you had all of his work affairs such as schedules and documents and the like handled before he could even lift a finger. for the longest time he's been a lawyer, only you were the one who managed to make his work easier.

when hiromi arrives at the firm an hour later, the air seems different—lighter, as if everyone just collectively forget their burdens for the day. he also notices other employees trying to look over towards your cubicle.

there, by your desk, sits a little girl no older than six years old. all her attention is on the sketchbook in front of her, drawing a pretty pink character.

hiromi slows down to a stop. for a brief moment, he simply watches. the little girl sits with remarkable patience for someone her age, legs swinging gently beneath the chair that was far too tall for her. every so often, she glances up at you before returning to her drawing, content simply being nearby.

you notice him first and immediately stand.

"mr. higuruma, good morning."

it takes a second for him to pry his eyes from the girl before turning his attention to you. "good morning," he greets back. "is this your daughter?"

at being referred to, the little girl looks up from her sketchbook, blinks her big eyes at him, and then quickly slides off the chair. she smooths her dress before giving him a polite bow.

"good morning, mr. attorney," she greets. the girl straightens up with a bright smile. "i'm harumi. i'm six years old, and i'm going to start first grade soon."

hiromi blinks once before he visibly softens up. he crouches to meet her eyes and replies, "nice to meet you, harumi. i'm hiromi higuruma, thirty-six years old, and i'm a lawyer."

you try to bite back a smile. you've never seen your boss this soft. before harumi can try anything funny, you gently take her hand.

"okay, let's leave mr. higuruma alone n—"

"—would you like to see my drawings?" the little girl asks the man excitedly, showing him her sketchbook. "i love strawberry shortcake and i draw her lots."

harumi points at a character in her sketchbook. for a six year old, hiromi thought in surprise, she draws well.

"this one is strawberry shortcake. she has lots of friends, like here—it's cherry jam and raspberry torte. she has lots more of friends but my favorite are the pink ones, so i only drew them."

you cringe inwardly as you watch hiromi nod along, afraid of inconveniencing him any further.

"apologies, attorney, we'll leave you to your work now." you tap on harumi's shoulder. "come on, mr. higuruma's busy—"

"i can spare a minute," hiromi says with a small smile. "i find her drawings interesting, anyway."

harumi visibly beams at this.

soon, your daughter becomes a regular at the firm. thanks to her pleasing personality, everyone starts looking for harumi when you don't arrive to work with her in tow.

"aww, someone else is watching her?"

"where's harumi?"

"when is she visiting again?"

even hiromi starts asking.

the next time harumi visits, hiromi insists watching her while you finish your work.

"i'm free for the next two hours," he told you. "let me watch her so you can move without worry."

so you let him. now, harumi is across his desk, talkative as ever as she draws.

"everyone at school say i'm like strawberry shortcake," she proudly says. "because i make a lot of friends and i'm nice and i fix it when my classmates fight."

hiromi hums, glancing at her from his computer. "that so?" he asks. "i don't know her, but you are a kind girl, so you must be very similar."

"i have a classmate who is like shrek, someone who is like wreck-it-ralph, someone like snow white, and lots more," harumi earnestly responds. "mr. higuruma, i can think of a character like you as well."

curious, hiromi puts his pen down. "yeah?" he smiles. "who?"

harumi thinks hard. she shuts her eyes close and starts humming.

"mm..."

after half a minute, she opens her eyes again.

"never mind," she says. "you're too weird."

hiromi coughs. he clasps his hands together in question.

"...why do you think so?"

"you're so serious," harumi immediately answers. "you always look tired. you also always talk so deeply, like this—" she talks with an exaggerated bass, "—and your eye brows are always down like this."

harumi drops her hand and goes back to smiling brightly. "but i don't think you're so scary anymore."

"yeah? what changed?"

"well... you started smiling more!" she leans in and pinches his cheek. "yay!"

that is the exact moment you walk in. you immediately grow mortified when your daughter starts kneading hiromi's cheek.

"wha—harumi!"

the little girl immediately drops her hand.

"...mama."

you stand in the doorway, equal parts horrified and apologetic.

"what are you doing?" you whisper in disbelief before hurrying over. "i'm so sorry, attorney." you gently pry harumi away from hiromi, who still looks mildly stunned. "don't i always remind you that we keep our hands to ourselves?"

harumi pouts.

"but his face looked lonely."

you look beyond appalled now. the man is your boss, and here is you daughter, being overly familiar with him.

"his face looked what?"

"it looked like it needed this!" before anyone can stop her, she reaches up once more and gently presses both of hiromi's cheeks inward.

"squish."

silence filled the room. the entire office somehow feels quieter as you silently wish for the ground to eat you. before you could apologize again, hiromi snorts out a laugh.

"...is my face no longer lonely?" he asks.

harumi beams again.

"nope!" she leans towards him. "you smile now, you don't sound like this anymore—" she mocks a deep voice, "—law, law, papers, crime, work."

"i never sounded like that," he argues.

the bickering goes back and forth, and you finally let out a laugh.

hiromi's attention shifts immediately. in the three years you've worked together, he'd heard you chuckle politely, laugh with clients, and sighed in relief after winning difficult cases.

but this? it was different. your shoulders are relaxed, your eyes crinkled with mirth—for a second, you weren't his impossibly competent secretary carrying the weight of an entire office.

you were simply... a mother laughing at her ridiculous child.

he'd always assumed your life outside the office was difficult. he just never imagined it could also be this warm. somehow, between harumi's nonstop chatter and your quiet laughter, the office no longer felt like a workplace.

it felt... lived in. warm. the kind of place you look forward to after a long day.

hiromi had spent years returning to an apartment that greeted him with nothing but silence.

tonight, for the first time, he caught himself wondering what it would be like to come home to bright giggles, scattered crayons, quiet laughter, and someone waiting to tell him about strawberry shortcake.

to have someone look up when he walked through the door and say, "welcome home."

the image arrives uninvited.

worse, it doesn't leave.

"Why are you so full of energy?" Y/N asked with a gentle smile.

"Did you give him sugar? I told you."

"Hey, Blondie, I didn't give this hyperactive brat anything."

"He's excited about something." Hiromi tuned his bass until it sounded perfect. "What did you do?"

The drumming stopped, leaving the room in silence. Yu wore a grin from ear to ear, making Nanami feel the familiar ache creeping into his stomach. Haibara stood up and walked over to his jacket, which was lying on the floor. He rummaged through it for a few minutes, looking confused.

"Are you looking for what's in your back pocket?"

"Thanks, Nanami!" He grabbed it and unfolded the flyer, revealing a Battle of the Bands competition: "The Next Great Star." "We're going to win with Y/N, and nobody will laugh at us anymore. Besides, the winner gets 300,000 yen."

"I definitely think you should enter." Yaga smiled as he adjusted his sunglasses.

"Please, we don't even have a band name yet."

"Guys, I thought you'd already decided on one."

"We wanted you to have a say in it too, Y/N." Yaga quickly covered for their complete lack of progress in choosing a name.

"Hamburger Buddies!"

"No!" everyone shouted at once, leaving Yu staring at them in confusion.

"Spicy Nachos?"

"Ino, give him something to eat. He's hungry," Nanami said as he sat down to think.

The silence dragged on. Everyone looked at each other, searching for the perfect band name. But no one had any good ideas, and Haibara's suggestions only kept getting worse.

—These are overtime hours. Yaga pointed out as he looked at Hiromi. "I should be home making dinner for my kids."

"We all know Yui takes care of them, so start thinking."

Y/N looked at Yaga, who simply met her gaze with a nod. Hiromi just lit a cigarette to relax. Ino doodled in his notebook while Haibara ate, trying to share his snacks with Nanami as an excuse to steal one of his best friend's ideas.

"The Overtime?"

The guys fell silent, staring at Y/N. After several seconds, they all nodded. No one said anything; besides, nobody had a better name to argue with.

"It makes sense. We all have other things to do and come here during our free time, so... Overtime fits us perfectly."

"It sounds great." Hiromi leaned back after hearing Nanami's words. He'd summed it up perfectly.

"The Overfood!"

"That doesn't even sound right." Yaga bonked Yu on the head. "And I thought we'd moved past the food obsession, brat."

"Food is important for living."

"What you've got is gluttony. If that's the case, we might as well call ourselves The Oversnack."

"OverSweet!"

"OverSpicy!"

"OverMeat!"

"OverJuice!"

"OverMochi!"

Ino and Haibara grabbed each other's hands, hopping around while shouting out even more food names. Y/N laughed at how happy they looked. She instinctively leaned against Nanami, who tensed for a few seconds before laughing as well.

"Aren't they two complete idiots?"

"Yeah. They could've starred in that movie and become comedy superstars in Hollywood."

"No more food names for ridiculous band names!" Yaga smacked both of them on the head as punishment. "Y/N, you should be the leader."

"Huh?"

"I actually like that idea."

"Nanami..." she whispered, hoping he'd help her.

"Yeah! Be our leader!"

"You've got the most experience, and you're definitely the most talented."

"Thank you, Ino. Even so... I don't know if I can..."

"You'll do great. We're actually very obedient as long as someone keeps us in line." He took the cigarette from his lips. "Girl power." he said, raising his fist.

"Come on, Y/N. I'll be right here with you. We'll be your loyal servants."

"You don't have to be so... devoted. We're a team. It's okay if we all listen to each other. So, what song are we going to perform?"

"The one you wrote with Nanami."

"Yu... It's not finished. Songs aren't written that fast."

"Not fast? I write songs in five minutes."

"His record is two minutes!" Ino exclaimed proudly, as if Haibara's achievement were something to brag about.

"Well, it's nice that two members of the band can write songs. Why don't you sing something from your own repertoire?"

Hiromi let out a dry laugh, making Y/N look at him in confusion. Higuruma rolled his eyes, amused. Yu paced back and forth, deep in thought, then switched on the recorder.

"You make yourself stand out, when deep down you're there," he sang as he grabbed the tambourine and tapped out a rhythm. Hiromi quickly stubbed out his cigarette against the wall before picking up his bass to join in. "I'm stalking you, can't you see I want to make you mine? Come on, I know you'll be mine."

"Your secret is safe with me." Ino supplied the line Yu couldn't come up with.

Y/N smiled as she noticed Nanami joining in on the guitar, quickly creating the melody. She smiled and tapped the table softly to the beat.

"This is turning out really well."

"You're irresistible, my love. A side of you that's my downfall. Out on the dance floor, they'll all say..." Nanami had joined the spontaneous songwriting as well.

"I'd eat you even with sauce."

The line Haibara belted out at the top of his lungs, completely off-key, made everyone freeze. The magic they'd created vanished instantly.

"Yu, we're not writing a song about food."

"Nanami... The lyrics were great."

"We're not entering a competition with a song about how badly you want to eat."

"This time Nanami's right, Yu."

"When have I ever not been right, Ino?"

Y/N chuckled softly and rested a hand on Nanami's shoulder. It calmed Kento's irritation almost instantly. Yaga stopped the recorder.

"Alright, alright. Guys, it was great seeing you compose so naturally together. That's exactly what's needed: six hearts united as one."

"The lyrics were going in a good direction. Maybe... could you suggest some changes?"

"Yeah. That's what we'll do. Alright, everyone, back to your positions."

Everyone returned to their instruments while Y/N played back the recording and analyzed the lyrics. Her mind drifted to a memory she'd long forgotten... one that had suddenly resurfaced.

Y/N had presented ten songs she had composed for the new album. Suguru was on a phone call through his Bluetooth headset, showing no intention of ending it anytime soon, but she waited patiently.

"Alright... I'm done with the call. Why was it so urgent that Gojo had to interrupt me in the middle of a meeting with one of your future sponsors?"

"I wanted to ask if... you could listen to these songs. Gojo said they were good, so I thought it'd be great if we could use them for the album." She placed the disc containing her recordings on the desk.

"Hmm..." Suguru picked up the disc, still inside its thin plastic sleeve. "Y/N, we've already finished the album thanks to our experienced songwriters. We don't need your songs."

"Maybe... just one or two? Gojo especially liked tracks seven and four."

"Y/N, dear, that's not how this industry works. Singers don't write the songs they perform. Other people write them."

"I know. Gojo told me the same thing, but he also encouraged me to talk to you."

"I don't care whether he likes them or not." He snapped the disc in half with his hands. "They won't be included. I've already made my decision. Don't ever write songs again. Sing what you're told to sing, and wear what you're told to wear. That's your job. You're a product, and that product has to be perfect."

✨ Banner designed by@alebrasil0101for this story ☺️.

"I cannot say with certainty. Her body has endured a great deal within a very short span of time. Shock alone could have rendered her unconscious; I suspect she must have had trouble with sleep the night before. Was the lady able to rest at all after getting injured?"

"I can't be certain..." For a long moment, Zuko looked toward the bed before his gaze snapped to one of the maids who had spoken up.

"My lord..." she began softly, clasping her hands before her. 

"The Lady did not seem herself after you left this afternoon. She appeared terribly fatigued despite what she told us and requested that we not disturb her for the remainder of the day, saying she wished only to rest."

The maid paused briefly, recalling the events after she had provided you with your prescribed medicine.

"I returned a while later to ensure her condition had not worsened. She remained asleep, though..." Her brows knitted together uncertainly. 

"She appeared deeply distressed. She was tossing in her sleep, her breathing had become rather uneven, and it seemed as though she was having a terrible dream. I attempted to wake her, but she never opened her eyes. After several moments she settled on her own, and seeing that her breathing had steadied once more, I believed it best not to disturb her further."

The physician listened thoughtfully before giving a slow nod of understanding.

"That is hardly surprising," he said quietly, returning his attention to Zuko. "She had endured a grievous wound. Such experiences often linger long after the body has been treated, and it is not uncommon for the mind to continue reliving them through restless sleep."

His expression softened as he folded another clean dressing into place to prepare dressing your wound.

"At a time such as this, My Lord, medicine alone will not be enough. If it is at all possible, I would advise surrounding her with those she trusts most. The presence of family, or someone dear to her, may do far more for her recovery than any remedy, particularly after the events of this evening."

The room grew quiet.

Zuko's eyes lingered upon your sleeping figure, his thoughts already drifting toward the one person whose presence would ease your fears more than anyone else's.

"...The Avatar should be returning by tomorrow," he said at last, but the words left him far more quietly than he intended.

No one noticed the faint hesitation that preceded them.

No one, save perhaps the old physician, could have guessed that what weighed upon the Fire Lord was not uncertainty over the Avatar's arrival, but dread over the conversation that inevitably awaited him. 

Aang would return to find his wife wounded, having survived two attempts upon her life beneath Zuko's protection, and since ascending the throne, Zuko found himself unsure of what he could possibly say that would make any of it easier to bear.

The physician followed his gaze, his expression softening almost imperceptibly.

"She survived tonight, Fire Lord." His voice remained gentle. "Allow her body the opportunity to remember that. Now, I shall tend to the Lady, My lord."

Zuko gave him a nod, his eyes examining you for another moment to truly make sure you were breathing, before he followed after his guards, closing the doors quietly behind him.

Outside, nearly two dozen Royal Guards stood stationed throughout the corridor, far more than the wing had ever required in it's existence. None spoke as their Fire Lord passed, though every one of them straightened on instinct as he walked past them.

"Keep these chambers guarded," Zuko instructed without slowing his pace. 

"No one enters without my permission."

"Yes, Fire Lord."

He continues toward the council chamber and the meeting had already begun by the time he arrived.

Maps of the palace had been spread across the central table alongside reports gathered from surviving guards. 

His uncle stood near the head of the room speaking quietly with the Grand Chamberlain, the Commander of the Royal Guard, and the captain responsible for palace security, their conversation falling silent the moment the doors opened.

Every man bowed.

"My lord."

Zuko acknowledged them with a slight inclination of his head before stepping toward the table.

"Begin."

"We have accounted for every infiltrator who entered the palace yesterday, Your Majesty. Though it seems Princess Azula acted alone today and was the only one involved in today's incident."

"Where is she now?"

"Confined beneath the western prison, away from Ozai as you asked."

"The restraints?"

"They have been doubled."

Zuko's expression remained unchanged. "Triple them."

The commander gave no hesitation with her response as he nodded. "...Yes, Fire Lord."

"How did she get in?"

"I think she never left, Zuko." Iroh answers his nephew, which only makes Zuko face contort with worry, because they had no way to know unless asked of Azula herself.

"There remains one matter we have yet to determine with certainty, Fire Lord. We have not discovered how Princess Azula escaped the Asylum."

Zuko's gaze lifted sharply from the layout before him. 

"The palace never received word of it." he noted, unable to keep the his concern from creeping into his voice. 

When the commander slowly shook his head, the calm composure Zuko had maintained throughout the meeting began to crack. 

"it should be impossible," he said more firmly, resting both hands against the edge of the table. 

"The asylum answers directly to the throne. Had my sister escaped, this palace should have been informed before she ever reached the capital, let alone infiltrated the royal residence."

"We share your confusion, Fire Lord," the Grand Chamberlain replied. 

"At present, there are only two explanations that appear plausible. Either Princess Azula escaped with the assistance of those aligned with the Shinu, and no report was ever dispatched from the asylum in the first place, or the report was sent as protocol demands, but someone intercepted it before it could reach the palace."

The room fell into a thoughtful silence as the implication settled over everyone present. Neither possibility offered comfort, for both required the involvement of someone beyond the asylum's walls. 

Whether through the Shinu or another unseen ally, Azula had not acted alone, and somewhere within the Fire Nation there remained hands willing to aid the former princess despite a decade of confinement.

Zuko exhaled slowly, though it did little to calm the frustration tightening in his chest. 

"According to the prisoners, Azula approached the Shinu Clan after her escape. So it could only be the latter. Trace every courier who travelled between the asylum and the capital in the past few weeks," he ordered. 

"Question every checkpoint commander, every messenger, every officer responsible for carrying royal correspondence. If a report existed, I want to know where it disappeared."

"It shall be done, Fire Lord."

His eyes remained fixed upon the map for only another moment before another thought forced itself to the forefront of his mind. 

"...What of the guards?" he asked quietly. "The men I stationed outside The Lady's chambers before leaving for the prison, and those I later ordered to reinforce the eastern wing."

The Commander of the Royal Guard stepped forward, unfolding another report from the stack before him. 

"The additional men you ordered never reached the chambers, Your Majesty. They were discovered unconscious inside an abandoned storage room along the eastern corridor."

Zuko frowned. "How?"

"They had regained consciousness only shortly before this meeting," the commander answered. 

"According to their testimony, they heard repeated banging coming from one of the unused rooms while making their way toward the Lady's chambers. Believing something amiss, they diverted to investigate. They found the room empty and, as they turned to leave, both recalled feeling a sharp strike at the base of the neck before losing consciousness."

Had it been Azula? Or was someone helping her?

"And the guards already stationed outside her chambers?" Zuko pressed.

Another officer stepped forward to answer. "They, too, have been questioned, Fire Lord. They admit they abandoned their post, though they believed they were acting under your authority."

"My authority?" Zuko repeated, the words carrying more irritation than he should have shown.

"The woman we now know to have been Princess Azula approached them disguised as one of the palace attendants assigned to the lady's care." The officer glanced briefly toward the written statement in his hands before continuing. 

"She carried the physician's medicine tray and questioned why they remained outside the chambers. When the guards informed her they had received no new orders, she appeared surprised and told them that Your Majesty had summoned every available guard to the western wing of the palace."

"They never questioned her word?" Zuko asked in disbelief. 

"The men hesitated, but when they looked into the corridor, they found it nearly deserted. The reinforcements Your Majesty had dispatched had already been diverted before reaching them, leaving the eastern passage almost entirely empty. Princess Azula assured them she had been instructed to remain with the Avatar's wife until they returned and, believing she was merely another palace attendant, they left their post."

No one spoke for several moments as all present in the room absorbed the shame of the incident. The deception had been disturbingly simple, relying solely on timing. 

"If my dear brother hadn't been so hospitable...I never would've found the perfect piece." "You invited the Avatar's wife into your palace. You placed her beneath your own roof and simply handed me that leverage." "You are attacking a woman who had nothing to do with this." "Oh, she has everything to do with this." "You are so weak, Zuzu. The only ace you have up your sleeve is Aang. If only she had died, maybe he would no longer hold your hand. But I suppose this for the better, because it seems the Avatar would tear this nation apart for her." "And so would I."

Zuko closed his eyes briefly before drawing another slow breath. "She was right. I gave her the leverage. She planned it all."

"I do not believe she planned all of it," Iroh said quietly, making Zuko turn to his Uncle to hear his thoughts.

"The attack upon the palace was intended to hurt the Avatar's wife, they wished to forfeit her life. But by the will of the spirits she remains her with us. I believe the Shinu heard of it, and today they were meant to remove her quietly while the rest of us were occupied with the prisoners."

His gaze shifted toward his nephew.

"But witnessing their failure, Azula ceased relying upon others. She acted on her own accord."

Zuko looked back toward the table, his thoughts returning to the duel only an hour earlier. Throughout the fighting she had barely used her fire until cornered, and even then her movements had lacked the effortless stamina he remembered from years ago. 

Her strikes remained as precise and dangerous as ever, but she had tired more quickly, her complexion paling with every passing exchange until he finally managed to force the opening that allowed the guards to restrain her.

Had she possessed the same endurance she once carried beneath Sozin's Comet...

The thought lingered unfinished in his mind. He found, to his own discomfort, that he did not wish to know how differently that fight might have ended.

"My sister will remain confined beneath the western prison until morning," he said at last. "I want the physicians to examine her mental stability before any interrogation begins. Once they have determined she is fit to answer questions..." He hesitated before he would cement his next words,

"...I shall...question her myself."

The Commander of the Royal Guard bowed. "As you command, Fire Lord. It shall be done"

Zuko inclined his head once.

"You are all dismissed."

One after another, the ministers gathered their reports and withdrew from the council room, the officers following close behind until only the Grand Chamberlain lingered back, giving Zuko a bow once more before quietly closing the doors behind him.

Silence settled over the room as Iroh could only watch his nephew for several moments before speaking.

"You are troubled."

Zuko let out a humorless breath, lowering his eyes to the reports still lying before him.

"I...do not believe I should be the one to question her. I would ask that you do it in my stead."

Iroh's brows lifted ever so slightly as he regarded him quietly.

"You know I would do almost anything for you, nephew." His voice remained as gentle as ever. "But this is not one of those things."

Zuko finally looked up.

"Why?"

"Because she is your responsibility."

Bothered by his statement, Zuko straightened himself up, giving Iroh a defying gaze, one that he hadn't seen on his nephew's features for years.

"She is no longer merely my niece, nor simply your sister. She has become a threat to the Fire Nation itself, and more importantly...to the Avatar's wife." His gaze softened before he continued.

"If you cannot bring yourself to face her now, then she has already accomplished part of what she came here to do."

Zuko fell silent once more; his hands rested against the edge of the table, his thoughts had long wandering back to you.

"I was afraid," he admitted quietly and Iroh did not interrupt.

"When Azula held the blade to the Lady's her neck...for the first time in years, I found myself wondering whether I would be able to stop her in time." His voice grew fainter as the memory returned with uncomfortable clarity.

He closed his eyes briefly before continuing.

"She was not fighting as she once did. Her movements were slower. Had she recovered fully..." He swallowed, unable to keep the thought from lingering. 

"I am not certain I would have subdued her before she reached succeeded in doing what she had intended."

The confession remained suspended in the quiet chamber.

After several moments, Zuko drew another slow breath.

"Even when she told me she wouldn't kill her, I simply couldn't rely on her words when she has always been so unpredictable."

Iroh's gaze narrowed thoughtfully.

"She admitted her intentions were to not take the Lady's life?"

Zuko nodded.

"Rather than taking the Avatar's support from me, she intended to take me from the Avatar. She meant to kill me, reclaim the throne, and use his wife as leverage until he had no choice but to submit to her rule."

The night had been very unkind to you.

Not long after the physician had administered another dose of injections, the warmth beneath your skin had begun to climb until your body burned with fever. 

By dawn, the palace maids had discovered you drenched in perspiration, your breathing uneven and bothered, and soon enough, word had reached Zuko by the time the sun had fully risen.

Since then, your chambers had scarcely known a moment of peace.

Now that the palace physician's had returned due to the attack, their first duty had been to treat you. They entered your room one after another, carrying satchels filled with herbs scrolls, each examining your condition before arriving at the same conclusion. 

The fever, they assured him, had been brought on by exhaustion, blood loss, and the tremendous strain your body had endured over the past two days. 

You needed rest above all else. Everyone simply had to be patient, for time would prove a far better remedy than anything more they could offer, for the outside physician who had first tended to your wound had already prescribed everything your body required to heal.

Zuko listened to every explanation without interruption, thanked each physician for their efforts, and watched every one of them leave feeling no more reassured than before.

Something refused to settle within him.

He had spent enough years around healers to recognize when they were certain of themselves. He knew for a fact his physicians spoke confidently, yet every answer felt incomplete, every reassurance that they offered him left an uncomfortable sense that something had escaped their notice. 

Perhaps it was nothing more than the events of the previous evening refusing to loosen their grip upon his thoughts, or perhaps it was the memory of watching you collapse in his arms that would not stop replaying each time he looked at your sleeping face.

Throughout the day he remained beside your bedside in his chambers, abandoning every matter brought before him unless it demanded his signature alone. Reports accumulated upon the table near the window, while ministers were dismissed with promises that the Fire Lord would attend to them tomorrow. 

Every so often he reached forward to brush the back of his fingers lightly across your forehead, only to find the fever still lingering beneath your skin despite every remedy the physicians prescribed.

By the afternoon, despite what had been advice by the palace physicians, his patience had finally worn thin.

"Send for the physician who treated her after the attack, the one from the capital infirmary." he instructed one of the attendants waiting outside the chamber.

The maid bowed hurriedly before disappearing down the corridor.

He trusted the palace physicians. He truly did. 

But his heart could not settle seeing you in such a state, knowing very well how Aang will break down at the sight of you.

More over, he blamed himself for entertaining your request the night of the first attack. If only he had denied you and left you to rest, your body would have gotten the rest it deserved in the first place.

When the physician arrived, by some miracle you had regained consciousness. The first sight that greeted you was not Aang's face, as you had hoped it would be before you lost consciousness, but the very same man who had held you close when you could no longer keep your eyes open.

The moment Zuko heard the faintest rustle of the sheets, he cut short whatever conversation he had been having with the familiar physician. His attention snapped toward you immediately, relief washing over his features the instant he found your eyes open, though the confusion lingering within them did little to ease the concern etched across his own.

You heard him speaking to you, his voice distant at first, as though it were reaching you from beneath deep water. Little by little the world began to take shape once more, the blurred figures around your bedside becoming clearer as the ringing in your ears subsided, yet the words themselves continued to slip through your mind without meaning. Your body burned beneath the blankets, every breath leaving your chest feeling heavier than the last.

Only when you felt the warmth of his hand wrapped around yours did you find enough strength to speak.

"Zuko..." The single word scraped painfully against your throat, rough as though you had swallowed sand, yet you forced yourself to continue. "Please... take these sheets off me."

Your voice was scarcely louder than a whisper, but it was enough.

Zuko glanced down at you, immediately noticing the unfocused look in your eyes before turning toward the physician, silently seeking his approval rather than acting on his own.

"It is alright," the physician assured him. "Do as she asks. Help her sit upright as well. It will make examining her considerably easier."

Only then did Zuko move, one arm carefully supporting your back while one of the palace maids hurried to your other side. Together they eased you into a sitting position, taking great care not to disturb the healing wound hidden beneath the bandages, though the moment your weight settled against the headboard, a sharp pain tore across your shoulder with such sudden force that your body folded forward before either of them could stop you.

A strained sound escaped your lips, barely coherent through the haze clouding your thoughts, as you instinctively reached toward the injured shoulder.

"My Lady?" the maid asked at once, her voice thick with worry as she steadied you before Zuko could voice his own concern.

"My shoulder..." you murmured weakly, your brows knitting together as another wave of pain coursed through your body. You instinctively drew your arm closer to yourself, your breathing faltering for a moment before you looked toward the physician. "It hurts... considerably more than it did yesterday."

Zuko's expression changed almost instantly. Whatever relief he had felt upon seeing you awake vanished just as quickly, replaced by a concern so plain that even the physician noticed it before he reached your bedside.

"It is quite alright," the older man assured calmly, gesturing for one of the maids to help you remain upright while he retrieved several instruments from his satchel. "Allow me to examine you first. I shall check your pulse, your blood pressure, and ensure the wound has not been disturbed."

His practiced hands worked methodically as he spoke, never once appearing hurried despite the Fire Lord's watchful presence lingering over his shoulder.

"And you needn't look so alarmed, Fire Lord," the physician added with the faintest smile, glancing up only briefly before returning his attention to you. "Pain is hardly unexpected after everything she has endured."

Zuko blinked almost imperceptibly. Had his worry truly become that obvious?

"I would rather not increase the number of medicines she is already taking," the physician continued as he prepared a fresh syringe upon the bedside table. 

"Instead, I shall administer a local anesthetic around the wound itself. It should dull the pain enough to allow her a proper night's rest without burdening her body with yet another remedy."

Far above the Fire Nation capital, Appa cut through the evening sky with great sweeping strokes of his tail, the last light of the setting sun painting the clouds in shades of amber. 

Aang remained seated between the air bison's horns, his hands gripping the reins tighter than he usually would, his eyes fixed on the horizon before the palace itself came into his view.

The first thing he noticed was the damage, and even on the nation's darkest day, he could never have imagined the palace in such a state. It was not nearly as catastrophic as he had feared, yet the destruction remained far too prominent for comfort.

Even from this distance, portions of the outer walls remained blackened by fire, scaffolding climbing over fractured towers while workers hurried across rooftops as they rushed to fix whatever they could before sundown. 

His stomach tightened.

Appa had completely slowed during his descent, landing heavily within the palace courtyard. 

The moment the sky bison's paws touched the ground, Aang was already sliding off his head, barely giving himself time to steady his footing before turning back.

"You got us here so fast, buddy." He rested a hand against Appa's cheek, his voice hurried despite the grateful smile that managed to find its way onto his face. 

"Thank you."

Appa answered with a low rumble, nudging him once before lowering himself to the ground, clearly exhausted from the relentless journey. 

Momo leapt from the saddle onto Aang's shoulder with an anxious chirp, earning a quick scratch beneath the chin before Aang broke into a run toward the palace entrance.

Servants and guards alike scarcely had time to announce his arrival before he disappeared into the corridors, moving through halls. 

His pace never slowed until he reached the familiar corridor leading toward the guest chambers, only for one of the palace guards to step into his path.

"My apologies, Avatar."

Aang stopped so abruptly that he nearly collided with him.

"Where is my wife?!"

The words came out before anything else.

"She was.." The guard caught himself immediately, bowing his head. 

"Your wife has been moved, Avatar. The chamber she occupied as rendered uninhabitable during the attack.""

Aang frowned with worry.

"Where is she?"

"In the Fire Lord's chambers. I shall take you there."

The walk felt impossibly long despite lasting barely a minute. 

They passed deeper into the residential wing before stopping. The guard stepped aside, pushing open the doors just enough for Aang to enter.

They struck the wall with a heavy thud.

Several palace guards stationed around the room immediately straightened before bowing, while the physician standing beside the bed paused midway through checking your pulse.

Only one man remained exactly where he was.

Zuko stood beside your bedside, one hand still resting against the edge of the mattress, turning only when he heard the doors burst open.

Aang's eyes swept frantically across the room before settling upon the bed.

You were propped weakly against the headboard with pillows supporting your back, a fresh bandage had been wrapped around the side of your forehead, hiding the wound beneath layers of clean linen. 

Your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, and yet the moment your eyes met his, something within them softened in quiet relief.

His heart lurched and the panic that had carried him across an entire nation finally caught up to him.

"...Love."

Your name escaped him in a breathless whisper before he crossed the room in hurried strides. 

The physician and the palace maids immediately stepped aside, bowing respectfully as he passed, while Zuko rose from the chair beside your bed without a word, instinctively giving your husband the space that belonged to him.

You had promised yourself you would not cry again, your eyes red and burning due to the fever coursing under your skin. 

Yet the moment Aang reached you, every ounce of strength you had spent forcing yourself to remain composed dissolved completely. 

"...Aang."

It was barely more than a whisper.

He was beside you before the final syllable had even left your lips, gathering you into his arms with a care that bordered on desperation, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other settled around your shoulders. 

And although you easily melted against him immediately, you hissed in pain due to his hand pressing into your wound. 

Even so, you made no effort to tell him of it as before you could feel it, with your forehead resting against the crook of his neck as a quiet sob escaped despite your best efforts to suppress it.

"I'm here," he murmured, his own voice unsteady. "I'm here now."

His trembling hands held you close, while tears and perspiration dampened your face together until he could scarcely tell where one ended and the other began. 

His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye, wiping away the moisture before it slipped further down your cheek, and for one brief moment he simply held you tighter.

His heart could not accept your condition now, when you had been so healthy and bright only two days ago before he was forced to leave you. 

It felt cruel that in so short a time, life had managed to strip so much of your warmth away, leaving behind only a frail reflection of the woman he had kissed goodbye.

Across the room, Zuko quietly resumed his seat.

His attention lingered upon the two of you only briefly before he lowered his eyes, allowing them the privacy they deserved despite sharing the same room. 

It felt wrong to witness such an intimate reunion, particularly after everything that had transpired over the past two days, and he was prepared to excuse himself altogether when Aang finally spoke again.

"...What happened?"

The question had been asked so quietly that, Zuko almost didn't hear him.

He slowly lifted his eyes, only to find Aang still kneeling beside the bed with his back turned toward him, his arms wrapped securely around you while his thumb continued absentmindedly brushing the strands of hair away from your damp forehead. 

To anyone else, the Avatar might have appeared remarkably composed, his voice calm and measured despite everything that had happened, yet Zuko knew him well enough to hear what lingered beneath it.

He could see the restraint anger within him, just waiting to explode, compressed beneath quiet words, waiting patiently until there was no one left in the room but the two of them.

Aang finally look over his shoulder and when their eyes met, and Zuko could understand every racing thought of his.

Aang was feeling too many things all at once.

Relief, because you were alive. 

Terror, because your skin burned beneath his hands with a fever he had never seen you carry before. 

Guilt, because he had left you here believing you would be safe. 

And anger, for Zuko.

"The physician must examine her again," he said calmly, his voice measured despite the exhaustion weighing upon it. 

"Once he has finished, I shall tell you everything."

Aang looked up and Zuko saw the demand already forming behind his eyes. 

He wanted answers now. He wanted to know who had done this, how it had happened, why his wife lay burning with fever beneath layers of bandages when her safety should have been guaranteed in Zuko's hands.

But Aang never said any of it. His jaw tightened before he slowly exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to swallow every question threatening to escape.

He could not forget where he was.

Before everyone gathered within these walls, Zuko was not merely his friend.

He was the Fire Lord.

And Aang was not simply a worried husband.

He was the Avatar.

Whatever conversation followed belonged behind closed doors.

"...Alright," he answered quietly.

Reluctantly, he loosened his hold around you, helping you settle carefully back against the pillows before moving around the bed to the chair Zuko had only just vacated. 

He took the seat without another word, remaining close enough that your fingers instinctively found the sleeve of his robe, refusing to let go even after you had closed your eyes again.

The physician approached your bedside once more, his expression gentle as he prepared another syringe.

"Miss, I shall need to examine your wound before administering the anesthetic," he said softly.

You managed the smallest nod, lacking the strength to offer anything more.

At his instruction, the palace maids quietly set about their work, drawing the privacy screens around the bed before carefully loosening the upper layers of your robe. Aang instinctively lowered his gaze to afford you the modesty you deserved, though the physician was quick to stop him.

"Avatar Aang, I would ask that you remain close. She may require your support while I examine the wound." he said gently

It was only then, when the fabric slipped carefully from your shoulder, that Aang truly saw the extent of your injuries.

Beneath the clean white dressing wrapped securely across your upper back and shoulder, fresh stains of crimson had already begun to bloom through the linen, spreading in uneven patches that no amount of careful bandaging could completely conceal.

His breath caught in his throat because nothing could have prepared him for this.

The physician offered you a reassuring smile before instructing the palace maids to help you turn onto your stomach, every movement slow and deliberate so as not to disturb the healing wound. 

Even through the haze of fever, the slightest shift drew a quiet whimper from your lips, your brows pulling together as your fingers instinctively searched for the only familiar comfort within reach.

Aang was already there.

Before you could grasp at empty air, his hand had found yours once again, carefully weaving his fingers between your own as though afraid you might slip away if he held on any less tightly. 

His other hand rose almost without thought, brushing the damp strands of hair away from your face before resting lightly against your temple, his thumb absentmindedly tracing slow circles over your warm skin in the same gentle rhythm he had often used whenever sleep refused to find you.

"I'm right here," he whispered, his voice barely louder than a breath.

Your grip tightened around his hand with surprising strength the moment the maids eased you onto your front, another pained sound escaping before you could stop it. 

Aang immediately shifted closer, allowing you to lean whatever little weight you needed against him, his free hand rubbing slow, reassuring strokes between your shoulder blades wherever the physician's examination would not disturb the injury.

"I'm sorry," he murmured again, lowering his forehead until it rested lightly against your knuckles, his eyes squeezing shut for the briefest moment. 

"Just a little longer... I promise."

Though your eyes remained half-lidded with exhaustion, your breathing gradually began to steady beneath his touch, and Aang stayed exactly where he was, unwilling to loosen his hold even for a moment while the physician carefully began removing the dressing from your shoulder.

The physician waited until you had settled before carefully unwinding the linen wrapped around your shoulder. 

Layer by layer, the fresh bandages were carefully peeled away until the injury beneath was finally revealed, and the room seemed to fall into a silence.

Aang stopped breathing.

The wound was worse than he had imagined, carving an angry path across your shoulder. Though it seemed to be in the early stages of healing, the skin surrounding it remained swollen and bruised, painted in deep shades of violet and crimson that spread far beyond the injury itself. 

Along its edges, however, the flesh bore something he had not expected to ever see. It had been burned.

Thin blackened marks traced either side of the wound in uneven lines, as though someone had deliberately pressed searing hot metal against your skin. 

Aang could not understand what he was looking at.

It no longer resembled an injury that would simply fade with time. It looked brutal and he found himself unable to imagine what you must have endured while remaining conscious through it all.

His vision blurred before he even realized why and tears spilled freely down his face, slipping silently from his jaw onto the bedsheets below, and Aang made no effort whatsoever to hide them.

The physician first cleaned the skin surrounding the wound, ensuring the injury itself remained undisturbed before reaching for the prepared syringe.

 After quietly warning you of a slight sting, he administered the anesthetic at several points around the edges of the wound, each injection delivered with steadiness so it could gradually numb the injured flesh. 

Though it would offer only temporary relief, it would be enough, he hoped, to spare you the worst of the pain and allow your exhausted body the peaceful sleep it had been denied for far too long.

New bandages were wrapped securely around your shoulder and across your chest, while the maids quietly helped you ease back onto your side once everything had been secured.

Only after your robes had been fastened once more did the room begin to empty.

The guards bowed before returning to their posts beyond the chamber doors, their armor disappearing into the corridor one after another. 

The maids followed with silent curtsies, carrying away cloths and the physician's discarded dressings, while the physician himself offered one final bow toward both the Fire Lord and the Avatar before excusing himself to wait outside for the two.

Zuko remained standing near the window before turning back toward the bed, watching Aang remain fixed exactly where he was, now kneeling on the floor, one hand wrapped carefully around yours while the other rested lightly against the mattress beside you. 

You lay curled onto your left side, your breathing uneven beneath the fever, entirely unaware of the tears that continued falling onto the blankets between your joined hands.

Slowly, Aang lifted your fingers toward his face.

His lips brushed tenderly across your knuckles once.

He closed his eyes, pressing your hand against his forehead as another quiet sob escaped him, his shoulders trembling beneath the weight of everything he had arrived too late to prevent.

Zuko looked away, knowing some grief was too private to witness.

Aang remained beside the bed for another long moment before finally forcing himself to stand. His fingers lingered around yours until the very last second, reluctant to let go, and when he did, he found Zuko already watching him from across the room. 

Their eyes met only briefly before Aang looked away, hastily brushing the tears from his face with the heel of his palm. He drew a slow breath, trying to gather what little composure he had left, then slipped the red outer robe from his shoulders, folding it over one arm until only the familiar orange and yellow robes of the Air Nomads remained.

"I'll speak with you outside," Zuko said quietly, careful not to disturb your sleep. "My study."

Aang answered with a silent nod.

Before following him, he turned toward the two guards stationed beside the chamber doors. 

"Please..." His voice caught before he steadied it again. "Don't leave her alone."

The older guard bowed deeply, his fist pressed against his chest. "You have my word, Avatar. No one shall enter these chambers without the your or the Fire Lord's direct permission."

Only then did Aang allow himself to leave.

The walk through the palace passed in complete silence. The physician accompanied them a respectful distance behind, clutching his satchel while servants stepped hurriedly aside at the sight of both the Fire Lord and the Avatar moving through the corridors together. 

Upon reaching the study, Zuko held the door open, waiting for the physician to enter before quietly closing it behind them.

Aang remained standing opposite the physician, his closed so tightly at his sides that his knuckles had begun to pale.

"...Tell me honestly," he said, dispensing with every courtesy. "How is she?"

The physician inclined his head before answering. 

"Her wound is healing, Avatar. There are no signs of infection." He spoke calmly, though his expression remained measured. 

"It has only been two days since the injury was sustained. I understand the sight of it is alarming, but the healing itself is progressing exactly as I had hoped."

Aang lowered his eyes for a moment, absorbing every word.

"So she'll recover?"

"Provided nothing further complicates the wound...yes." The physician offered him a reassuring smile.

Only then did Zuko speak.

"And the fever?"

The physician turned toward him.

"I believe it is precisely what the palace physicians concluded earlier today. Her body has endured significant trauma over a very short period." He rested his satchel upon the edge of the desk before continuing. 

"Exhaustion, blood loss, the shock of the attack, followed by last night's incident...it would not be unusual for the mind to surrender only after the immediate danger has passed."

"So it is not the wound?" Zuko pressed.

"Not directly, my lord."

The physician hesitated briefly before adding, "I will admit, I disagreed with General Iroh's decision to cauterize the injury that first night. It is an aggressive measure, and one I would not ordinarily recommend."

Aang's head lifted immediately.

The physician noticed.

"However," he continued carefully, "given the amount of blood she had already lost...I believe it ultimately spared her from something far worse. Had the bleeding continued much longer, I am not certain she would have possessed the strength to recover as she has."

Aang could only furrow his eyebrows, worry etched on his face as he stood confused and in disbelief.

"The fever appears to be the body's response to everything that followed. Physical injuries heal more predictably than fear does. The events of last evening alone would have been enough to overwhelm someone already weakened." The physician resumed after a moment,

Aang closed his eyes as the physician's words only confirmed what he had already feared.

"Will it pass?" he asked quietly.

"I believe so." The physician nodded with confidence this time.

"Another day, perhaps two at most. Keep her room cool, ensure she continues taking the medicine, and above all..." He glanced between the two men before finishing. 

"...allow her peace. She requires rest far more than she requires additional treatment."

Zuko inclined his head.

"You have my thanks."

The physician took out the report from his satchel before extending it toward Aang.

"I have detailed everything regarding her treatment and the medicines she has been given," he explained. 

"The palace physicians should have little difficulty continuing her care with this. Should her fever worsen during the night, I am confident they will know how to proceed."

His expression softened ever so slightly before he continued.

"However, if they should require my guidance for any reason, do not hesitate to send for me at once. I shall come immediately."

With one final bow to both the Fire Lord and the Avatar, he quietly excused himself.

The study door clicked shut behind him.

Finally, with the physician gone, only the two of them remained.

The silence that settled over the study no longer belonged to servants hurrying about the palace or physicians discussing medicines. 

It belonged only to two friends who had known one another for years, each carrying the weight of the same woman for entirely different reasons.

Aang remained standing beside the desk, both hands resting against its edge while his gaze stayed fixed somewhere upon the polished wood beneath him. 

His breathing had steadied since leaving your bedside, but only just. Zuko had known him long enough to recognize restraint when he saw it, and the silence lingering between them felt less like composure than a dam threatening to give way.

The question came at last.

"...What happened?" Aang finally lifted his eyes, and there was nothing accusatory within them, only confusion wrapped so tightly around grief that the two had become impossible to separate.

"How did my wife end up like that?"

Zuko drew a slow breath before answering. "It was a coordinated attack upon the palace."

Aang said nothing, allowing him to continue.

"There was no warning. Members of my own Royal Guard had been working alongside the Shinu and opened the palace from within. Before anyone understood what was happening, the eastern wing had already come under bombardment."

He paused briefly, his eyes lowering toward the floor.

"The explosion had struck her chambers." Zuko's voice remained even, though each word seemed to cost him more than the last. 

"By the time I reached her...she had already pulled herself into the corridor."

He swallowed.

"There was a wound from a shard of glass lodged through her shoulder."

Aang's breathing caught. He looked as though he wished to ask another question, yet no words came. 

His lips parted before pressing together once more, his gaze falling toward the floor as his mind struggled to reconcile the woman he had left smiling scarcely two days earlier with the one lying feverish in the next room.

"The palace physicians were absent, the western infirmary had collapsed during the fighting, and we could not stop the bleeding." Zuko continued quietly.

Aang slowly looked back up.

"...The burns."

It wasn't truly a question.

Zuko nodded once. "My uncle cauterized the wound."

Whatever colour remained in Aang's face drained away.

His eyes closed for the briefest moment as though the image had formed before he wished it to, his throat working soundlessly before he finally managed another breath. 

His fingers loosened from the edge of the desk only to curl again immediately afterward, his nails pressing hard enough into the wood to chip at the polish.

"...She was awake?"

Zuko hesitated.

"Yes."

The answer landed with frightening weight making Aang feel faint.

One hand rose instinctively to cover his mouth as he drew a slow, uneven breath through his nose, fighting the ache tightening painfully beneath his ribs. 

"...Spirits."

He remained standing with his back turned to Zuko, one trembling hand covering his eyes as tears continued to slip silently between his fingers. 

The room around him seemed to fade into something distant and indistinct, his mind refusing to remain within the Fire Lord's study as another memory, one he had tried to bury beneath happier ones, quietly found its way back to him.

It had been scarcely two weeks since the two of you had first met when he had lost you once before.

He remembered searching every street of the marketplace in panic, calling your name through crowds that had never once answered him. 

He remembered finding the abandoned house, the splintered floorboards beneath his feet, and then you. 

Even now, he could still picture the terror in your eyes before you had realized it was him standing in the doorway, the bruises around your wrists where cold iron had dug into your skin, and the desperate way you had tried to gather what remained of yourself despite having already endured far more than anyone ever should.

On the day he proposed to you, he had promised himself that he would never allow anything like that to happen again.

Not while he still drew breath or even after.

Yet here he was, standing in another room, listening to another person recount the ways in which you had suffered while he had been somewhere else entirely. 

The details differed, yet the guilt settled upon his shoulders with the same unbearable weight, pressing against his chest until it became difficult to distinguish whether the ache belonged to his heart or simply to the air refusing to fill his lungs.

He had left you believing you would be safe.

He had kissed you goodbye only two mornings earlier, never imagining that those same two days would leave you scarred so deeply that someone had been forced to burn your flesh simply to keep you alive. 

Every image Zuko painted seemed only to give shape to horrors Aang wished had remained unknown, and his mind, cruel as it often was, insisted upon completing every picture until he could almost see you crawling across the floor, frightened and alone, calling for help that had arrived only moments before it had become too late.

The realization settled over him with quiet cruelty.

He had failed you once when the two of you had scarcely known one another, and though you never blamed him for any of it, he found himself wondering if his promise had ever truly meant anything at all. 

No matter how fiercely he wished to protect you, no matter how desperately he tried to keep you beyond the reach of harm, the world seemed determined to place pain in your path whenever he was forced to leave your side, and there was nothing that frightened him more than the thought that one day he might return only to discover he had arrived a single moment too late.

His breathing became shallow without him realizing it, each attempt at drawing another breath falling short of what his body demanded, until a tightness spread painfully through his chest and his vision began to blur around the edges.

"...Aang."

By the time Zuko reached him, he no longer seemed aware of where he was standing.

His breathing had become painfully uneven, each shallow breath catching somewhere deep within his chest before another hurried inhale followed after it. 

The hand still resting against the table trembled beneath the strain of supporting his weight, while his unfocused gaze remained fixed on the flood.

Zuko recognized the signs immediately.

Without another word, he closed the remaining distance between them, resting a steady hand against Aang's shoulder in the hope of grounding him before the panic swallowed him entirely.

"...Aang." His voice softened. "You need to breathe."

Aang remained frozen where he stood, his shoulders rising and falling in short, fractured breaths that refused to steady no matter how desperately he tried. 

His entire body had begun to shake beneath Zuko's hand, and for one unsettling moment, it seemed as though his legs might simply give way beneath him.

Then Aang turned, and the movement came so suddenly that Zuko had barely enough time to react before Aang closed the distance between them, his arms wrapping tightly around him with a desperation that caught him completely off guard. 

The force of it drove him back a single step, surprise flashing briefly across his features before instinct overcame it, his own arms lifting almost immediately to steady the man shaking against him.

Aang said nothing at all as he simply held on.

It was the opposite of the restrained composure of the Avatar he had learned to keep, nor with the confidence Zuko had come to know over the years, but it was the desperation of a husband who believed he might return home only to find the woman he loved already gone.

Aang buried his face against Zuko's shoulder, his fingers clutching desperately at the back of his robes as though the simple act of holding on were the only thing keeping him upright. 

His body shook with every uneven breath he managed to draw, each one catching painfully in his chest before another followed just as fractured as the last.

"I..." The word dissolved almost as soon as it left him, his voice breaking beneath another sob. "I thought...I was going to lose her."

Zuko closed his eyes.

"I know."

Aang's grip tightened.

"I don't know what I would've done."

The confession escaped him quietly. It was simply the truth finding its way past the grief, stripped of every attempt at composure until nothing remained but the terrified husband standing beneath the weight of it.

The study remained perfectly still around them, the silence broken only by Aang's quiet attempts to steady his breathing, each inhale gradually becoming less frantic than the one before it.

Zuko said nothing, allowing him the time to gather himself, one hand resting firmly between his shoulders in silent reassurance.

Then Aang spoke again.

"...Thank you."

The words were almost lost beneath another unsteady breath.

"Thank you...for staying with her."

Everything inside Zuko seemed to still.

His hand remained where it rested against Aang's back, yet the gratitude settling between them felt almost unbearable to receive.

Against his will, his thoughts drifted back to what had transpired between him and you.

He remembered the quiet that had settled after the physician had left, the conversation that had stretched far longer than he should have allowed, and the way exhaustion had slowly weakened your minds until neither of you had seemed quite like yourselves anymore.

Then came the memory he wished had remained buried.

Your face, impossibly close to his own. A single moment that had lasted no longer than a heartbeat.

No amount of distance placed between that night and this one seemed capable of changing it.

Aang remained standing before him exactly as he always had, placing his faith in the friend he had trusted for years, thanking him with a sincerity that settled painfully against every thought Zuko had spent the last day trying not to revisit. 

There was not the slightest hint of doubt in his voice, not the smallest suspicion clouding his gratitude, and somehow that unwavering trust wounded far more deeply.

A heaviness settled within Zuko's chest. He had done everything in his power to keep you alive.

Yet somewhere amidst fear, relief, and a night neither of you would ever be able to forget, he had crossed a line he could never allow himself to approach again.

His hand remained steady against Aang's back.

His heart did not.

"I'm sorry, Aang."

chapter eighteen coming soon...

a/n: guys, i am so frustrated rn. why is this fic so long?!

don't get me wrong, i'm honestly so surprised yet so proud of myself for actually having this much to say for a story for once in my life.

but DAMN. i really want to get to writing some future scenes already, but because i have so much i want to say and show first, i just keep prolonging it.

at this point, i genuinely cannot predict the length of this story anymore.

p.s. now that the movie is out, should i switch back to the original visuals I had for this fic, or should i stick to the current fanart version?

[taglist open] (please mention under the latest chapter or the story masterlist)

masterlist

Do you believe in bad omens?

A deadly hurricane rips through the city as death follows close by. Rain so cold that it feels like a thousand tiny needles ripping through your skin. Winds so strong that the strongest building seems to crumble at its might.

People are drowning, people are losing their once called home.

And right in the middle of it? Kuchel Ackerman screams into the night. Her body is exhausted and shaking but she keeps pushing forward. She's alone in the room, except for the doctor and nurses. But she's alone while her family and husband wait.

They wait for their princess to give birth to twins. Their father already celebrating as he smokes a cigar and drinks fine whiskey.

Maybe he should have waited?

"One more push!" The doctor screams out and she gives it her best. "I see the head! Were almost there!"

The pain is burning, as if she's being ripped on two. But it only lasts for a moment as the room fills with a shrill cry. The cry is almost drowned out by the loud thunder and flickering lights.

The room suddenly feels cold as her crying boy is placed on her chest. Black raven hair and silver eyes.

"Luci... My Luci.."

Kuchel only gets a moment to awe at her new born baby. Quickly the pain rises and her boy is taken out of her arms.

"Here comes baby number 2!"

Already weak and fatigued she uses whatever strength to push. Thunder so loud makes the room vibrate as the other twin is born.

Fear rips through the new mothers heart as silence fills the room. It takes one smack to the little ones behind to get a reaction out of the younger. Relief fills Kuchel's body as they place the baby onto her chest once again.

He is the same as his brother. Beautiful raven hair and grey eyes.

"My Levi... So... Beautiful..."

One of the nurses notices how pale she has gotten. She quickly grabs the baby while the mother falls limp.

"She's losing too much blood!--"

*BOOM, BOOM!*

Thunder itself sounds like it's in the room as both twins begin to cry.

Their mother slips into darkness as he slowly tries to reach for her children. But death has found her and reached out his hand instead.

Pt1 (coming soon!)

choso could barely focus on what yuji was saying. he had let the younger one drag a huge whiteboard he never knew they had, scribbling and doodling incomprehensible things on it. sitting on the bedroom floor, he regretted joining yuji’s impromptu crash course on how to “bag his dream girl” – according to the clumsily written title at the top of the board. 

there was a reason why choso never pursued long studies. he couldn’t even focus on a fake lecture. 

“the problem is that you make last-minute plans,” yuji stated, hitting the board with a toy sword. 

choso sighed, stealing one of his brother’s pillows and hugged it close to him. “it’s not my fault she appears out of nowhere.” 

“doesn’t she work at the café in front of your shop?” yuji deadpanned. 

choso refused to retort. he wasn’t wrong at all. even worse, he was practically a regular at this point, using his break to get an iced americano almost every other day. and while choso didn’t really believe or think much of fate, he definitely was certain that it was against him. between getting caught off-guard and always showing up to the coffee shop when there was an infinite line of customers behind him, there was no way he could easily get your number. 

and yuji seemed to read right through him. “don’t give me any excuses,” he warned, hitting the top of his head lightly with the toy. 

choso rubbed the spot, glaring at yuji through his bangs. can a man not be a coward anymore? yet somehow, he only found the courage to put himself out there when you bumped into each other. 

“regardless, try not to think much of it!” yuji continued. he tapped the tip of the sword on a heavily underlined “RIZZ”. written in bold red, of course. 

“this,” he stated, endearingly serious, “might not be given to everyone. but you can fake it by planning ahead.” 

choso snorted at how earnest yuji seemed to be, leaning his back against the edge of the bed. at least he could count on his adorably idiotic brother to make him feel a bit better. he listened to him talk about how he couldn’t take the interactions he had with you too seriously, that he should have a little bit of fun with it. and that, besides, you did think he was cute. 

and while it all made sense, there was no way in hell choso would ever call you “babygirl.” 

“yuji, do you even have the credentials to hold this class?” choso asked him, a bit suspicious. a bit teasing too. “you don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”

yuji chose to end his lesson here. 

instead, and because both nobara and megumi refused his offer, he took it upon himself to drag choso to the movies with him. what a better way to mend a broken soul than by watching the fourth human earthworm, right? 

and how could choso refuse yuji’s kicked puppy expression? 

after getting their tickets, the both of them went to the food court, yuji being determined to empty choso’s poor wallet. the both of them argued about which popcorn to get, choso deeming the caramel ones to be absolutely repulsing, to yuji’s dismay. 

unfortunately for him, he’s never been good at refusing his younger brother. 

when he started regretting following him here, choso perked up as his ears caught the sound of a familiar voice. he turned his head left and right, unsure if he had started hallucinating you after his catastrophic failure at the bookstore. 

seemingly – and thankfully – he was still perfectly fine. 

you stood before the drinks machine, frowning at the countless options before you, as if you couldn’t decide which to get. yuki was beside you, her own drink in hand while she sighed at your indecisiveness. you were taking this far too seriously, she thought, snorting at the way your eyes went between the coke and a clear soda. 

“we’re never seeing the movie at this rate,” she said, her finger poking your cheek. 

you swatted her hand away. “just go if you hate me this much,” you grumbled, sparing her a glance. 

yuki shook her head at your dramatics. she looked around the food court, taking in the overpriced sweets and snacks, the little kids begging their parents for a chocolate bar. she had to do a doubl-take when she caught sight of your favorite customer. 

oh? 

he looked so engrossed by the sight of you debating between drinks that he didn’t even notice yuki hiding her laugh behind her hand. standing beside him was a pink-haired teenage boy with a comically large bucket of popcorn in his hands. after sliding a few bills to the employee behind the counter, he finally noticed how gone the man was. 

a single look at choso’s face was enough for yuji to know what was up with him. there was no mistaking the way his pupils basically turned into hearts and the reason behind the red hue of his cheeks. 

what yuji didn’t expect however, was the blonde woman gesturing for him to follow her. at the way he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her, she pointed at you and choso. realization hit yuji like a truck. how could he, an expert in the field, not realize that she clearly was your wingwoman?

yuki snorted when he gave her an okay sign and a salute. 

“y’know what, you’re right,” yuki said, ignoring your curious look. “i do hate you.” 

with that, and without letting you hit her anywhere, she waved and left you behind. right when you finally made your pick. it didn’t help your confusion when you noticed that she was going anywhere near the theater. instead, she went towards the popcorn section and towards choso’s brother– 

choso? 

choso near-on passed out when you smiled at him. he waved yuji off when he told he’d be right back, too enamored by the sight of you. 

yuji put a hand on his shoulder before leaving. “remember what we studied this morning,” he said solemnly. “you can not fumble this.”

and even though choso was not the best at learning his lesson, he still chose to try his best. making his way up to you, he attempted to calm his nerves down, ignored the way his heart almost burst out when you greeted him so happily. 

he felt a bit more serene, a bit calmer than all the other times. there was no way he was gonna mess this up again. he just had to buy you whatever food suited your tastes. and when you’d offer to pay him back, he’d ask for your number as compensation. 

satisfied with his plan, he greeted you back, grabbing a cup and quickly making his choice. as he pulled the lever down, he turned to you when you chuckled, curious. 

“it’s crazy how we keep running into each other like this,” you told him. 

his eyes softened at the sound, nodding in agreement at your words. and it was like you were able to read his thoughts. “might be the sign of something, no?”

every word yuji had told him earlier this afternoon instantly evaporated from his mind. choso’s eyes widened at your little tease, feeling his cheeks take on an even darker tint. 

no. no, no, no. 

he couldn’t let his chance slip by, he reminded himself. he reigned himself in, shaking his head with a nervous laugh. he knew he could do better. he had to. he wasn’t good at one-liners but he sure was good at taking a chance whenever he could. especially when you gave such easy openings. 

“yeah,” he managed to get out, smiling a little. 

he looked cute, you thought, your eyes raking over his face. the way he seemed to be fighting off the bashfulness you’ve always seen him display. the way his cheeks burned a bright red. how he could barely hold your gaze for more than a few seconds. 

and the fact that he was trying so, so hard made your heart melt.

“yeah?” you pushed, your tone encouraging. “you think it is?”

choso cleared his throat. “i’d love it to be,” he confessed, looking at you again. 

but you didn’t look impressed. you looked alarmed, for some odd reason. in fact, you weren’t even looking at him. 

“your hand!”

oh. 

choso suddenly registered cold liquid running down his fingers, whipping his head to the drinks machine. his hopes of getting your number went down the drain, mortified at how terribly clumsy he showed himself to be. he set his cup on a nearby table, looking around to find a tissue he could wipe himself with. 

“here,” you said, grabbing his attention again. and his wrist. 

choso’s brain short-circuited when you wrapped your fingers around his skin. he let you clean the mess on his hand with a wipe. or rather, he couldn’t do anything but let it happen. his wrist tingled where you touched him, the gentleness of your actions sending shivers up his arms and own his spine. he was almost scared you could feel how wildly his heart was beating through his pulse.

you hummed in a disapproving way. “you should be more careful.” 

choso blinked down stupidly at the way you frowned at him. 

“it’s nothing dangerous,” he mumbled. 

when you tutted at him, your wiping turning a bit aggressive, he somehow felt grateful for his mishap. maybe yuji was right. he was really far too gone. choso muttered an apology, and you felt a little bad when he did so. you sighed, grabbing another wipe from your bag, making sure his hand wouldn’t be sticky. 

“still,” you said, stubborn. “you can’t be so scatter-minded,” you scolded playfully. 

with his hand now cleaned up, you had no reason to keep holding him. choso’s throat bobbed, mouth drying up when you traced the back of his palm with your finger. he felt like he might blow up as you interlinked your fingers, claiming that you simply wanted to compare sizes. 

he might be a fool for you but he wasn’t stupid. 

and he felt a sudden rush of courage. “it’s your fault for being so distracting.”

his boldness surprised you. you looked up at him, feeling heat gather at the apples of your cheeks, not expecting that from him. a small chuckle tumbled out of your mouth, finding amusement in the way he turned the tables on you out of nowhere.

choso could only stare. he’s never had a sweet tooth but oh, he could eat you up if you kept smiling so sweetly at him. 

and when yuji dragged him away, panicking over the idea of missing the beginning of his movie, it didn’t matter to him that he couldn’t get your contact information. 

at the very least, he now knew that he stood a chance. 

MASTERLIST .ᐟ.ᐟ ─ # attempt n°1 | # attempt n°2 | # attempt n°3 | # attempt n°5 | # xoxo

taglist : open .ᐟ.ᐟ ♡ ─ send me an ask in my inbox ‘n’ i’ll add you right away <3

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© mimi-sunny — all rights reserved. do not translate, plagiarize or feed into ai.

dividers by : @viviansturns (xoxo divider) 'n’ @strangergraphics (black bow divider)

Some things aren’t mentioned on online forums or among neighbours when divorce is the topic at hand.

Nobody mentions how there are habits and mannerisms that you will struggle to forget no matter how much you wish to banish them from your day to day life.

There are things you will be forced to leave in the hands of time—and said things will continue tormenting you until the clock swallows them with ticks that will fade the memories and rests of Higuruma until they are just background noise apart of your past.

You still try to find peace within twisting the wedding ring you no longer wear around your ring finger when stressed, only to end up frustrated and embarrassed.

The kind of embarrassment that goes hand in hand with shame and that crawls up your spine at the quietest moments.

Most painful when you wake up still used to seeing his stress-etched face relaxed by your side on your bed.

Most present when people from your life who you haven’t seen in years and haven’t updated in centuries ask you where he is?

Where is he?

You don’t reply because you bite down the words “probably knee deep in his assistant.”.

And you have the right to be bitter, you know it—to be petty and mean, to haunt him until he throws up over his actions.

He should be sick for doing something so inhumane to you. Stripping you of a life until nothing remains.

A sorry as big as the earth couldn’t fix anything—it wouldn’t erase the suffocating sensation of going back to work and watching your old coworkers stare at you like you’ve failed on the one and only life expedition you were supposed to succeed on.

Your heels click against the polished marble wood you used to confidently stride on the way to a major case, now, you carry the weight of someone that has sinned when you being innocent.

Feeling like the divorce has aged you somewhere far from 25, you push the wooden front open to the office with slumped shoulders and zero will to be back.

Thankfully, your kind boss was generous enough to offer you a position back at the firm after nobody could fill the hole you left.

That put a smile on your face for a fleeting second when he said it before disappearing as quick as it came when you remembered why you even left the job anyway.

You expect to walk into work, head down and beeline for your desk immediately to grab the freshest case and hope it has nothing to do with relationships and separations.

Where you had high expectations, knowing you shouldn’t, for the day, you’re met with something far more off putting.

A man, tall. Blonde, broad. Handsome. Maybe too much to be a lawyer. Structured—sharp jawline, nice nose, carved cheekbones, framed eyes, full brows.

You swallow at the sight of him without even noticing your legs are drawing you closer like your body knows he’s your destiny.

A part of you feels stupid for feeling like a teenager in front of a fully grown man, the other doesn’t care and goes to pry into his business.

“Hello.” You greet, hands gripping your briefcase with barely enough strength to keep it off the floor.

His eyes tear from the file he’s reading, an eyebrow slowly raises, beautiful hazel eyes stare down at you as his shadow swallows you from the morning sun shining behind him.

It is quite early for him to be even here which piques your interest all the more.

“Can I help you?” You ask, knowing that if he says no, you’ll just ask him to move from the entryway to your office to save face.

His head lifted with no hurry, line of sight shifting from the document in his hand that looked crumpled by the edges—something you later found out was not his style at all—to you.

From where your uniform started at your shoes—black leather heels tall enough to be workplace acceptable and elegant—to your under-the-knee dusty pink pencil skirt and your blazer over a crisp white button-up.

You felt his gaze cautiously eye you before his response came, plain, flat, monotone. Like he was here for one thing and one thing only.

“Are you a lawyer?” He asked, body turning to you, language speaking interested.

“Yes.” You had nodded once along with the short word, sharp and certain.

“Nanami Kento.” He held a hand out, smooth palm facing sideways, long fingers stretching and asking for a silent pact with yours.

“L/N Y/N.” You said, feeling the weight of the last name you used to carry just a few months ago knock against your spine.

You came to find out he was looking for the one thing you were funning from.

A divorce.

And it was messy.

A mirror of your own failure.

Cheating wife, screamed insults, quiet domestic abuse—verbal most of the time, physical sometimes.

It’s not often males are the subject of DV, but he was sitting in your chair. Strong, hardly earned muscles around his bones, a set mind—yet, reduced to nothing in the hands of the woman he swore to love.

Love.

That was his problem.

He loved her too much and for too long.

Which is why he stayed.

Stayed when she went out to meet another man—her coworker of sorts in cheap motels—stayed when she threw vases and hit him with anything she could find when he threatened to leave, stayed when she spat out the cruelest of words humans can muster.

You thought you had it bad.

You know nothing about being cut up to shreds.

Still, the way in which Nanami still quietly carried himself made your chest ache in that way it isn’t supposed to.

It’s wrong.

He is just a client.

One who still spoke highly of the woman who would leave his ribs bruised and his mind burning.

In all of your years as a lawyer yourself, you knew that there were lines—many, thick and necessary—always drawm between the giver and the taker.

Yet your body was pulled to him even after the settlement finished.

After the trial ruled her out of his life—his will and his future.

You convinced him to not give her a dime even when you knew it wasn’t your place to say anything.

And for someone so kind-hearted as Nanami, it was strange to find himself listening to you.

Even stranger when he didn’t feel as empty and cold as he anticipated to when the divorce finalised and set in stone.

He knew sooner than later that it was you.

That your constant and warm presence, born from your own days of grieving a relationship and a life you once knew every step in, was the one keeping him afloat.

It was like you both found eachother at the right moment and at the right time.

Lines blurred together quickly in concept, but things between the both of you were slow.

There were no dates immediately after the separation, none at all.

No talk of you two as an us even when the both of you knew the work-related relationship you were both driving had escalated into something more intimate, more real.

Till one day, there was catching up over coffee after you both had buried your legs and minds into coffee to forget events that you couldn’t say out loud yet.

Small talk over bakery goods turned into irregular dates whenever schedules fit over months.

Then a label came one morning in bed.

No grand gestures, no flowers on his bedroom wall with the letters “Will you be my girlfriend?” Like a middle schooler asking his situationship out.

It came between the talk of going to the farmers market after you woke up tangled around his limbs, and between the sleepy haze still clinging onto you from having freshly woken up.

He asked if you’d like to keep waking up by his side for as long as you’d allow him to go to bed with you tucked into him at night.

You had said yes before your heart could even pump the answer through your veins.

Things started looking upwards in your life like everything around you obtained legs and learned to fly.

In a way where you don’t realise just how fast the clock spins till one morning you wake up with a heavy stone on your fingers, silk pyjama hugging your skin and a wedding dress sitting in the corner of the room.

He was wrapped in cotton like a mellow dream. Legs stiff beneath him as you walked down the isle alone, carrying a veil full of memories between you and him.

Stitched between the fine lace and laced all the way to your heart.

Sporting that quiet and feverescent gaze, Nanami had never looked so sure of standing there. Sure the way he should’ve been around the first time he was getting married, but it didn’t come easily.

Maybe that’s why it didn’t last. He said “I do.” before meaning it.

His stare—sharp when frequented but soft around the edges when recognized who those hazel eyes are meeting—caught every detail of your essence from that day.

And he’s been carrying it with him ever since.

Kento is so much like Higuruma that he couldn’t be more different.

They parallel in your mind sometimes so much that a chill runs down your spine—one that whispers you could walk into his office one day and be met with the same horrifying sight.

Planned out with room to breathe and take a step back if you needed it.

Nanami is a kind of self sabotage Hiromi wasn’t—longer hours at the office for a dream you fantasise about, slower steps to match your pace in life, louder days because you have learned to hate the quiet ever since the divorce.

And maybe that’s why you wanted to try what you failed to achieve in your first marriage.

Not to revenge yourself.

But because making him a father and settling down seemed the next best thing.

You longed for free evenings again, ones where paper work—a mess of your cases and Nanami’s finance spreadsheets—weren’t the only thing on the dining table.

Over the years with Kento, you’ve both subconsciously taught each other to take breaks.

Having always been consumed with glossing over bumps and bruises with work, you both never really healed from past traumas till it was the other ripping the band-aid off.

The first trip you both took was to Malaysia, Kuala lumpur. Where on a boat, far from the coast—just him and you, three years tied to each other—you both talked about them for the first time.

No names.

You never needed names.

You didn’t present him as Hiromi Higuruma, someone that had your heart once and threw it far from either of your reaches.

He didn’t introduce her like a revelation, she was just the woman that swore she loved him but then burned his soul.

But you shared the struggles.

The story about finding him with her.

He told you about how she cheated on him too.

You resonated deeply with some parts of his story—the shrugged off questions, the vague answers and fading concern for your wellbeing.

And it ended there.

You never needed to speak of the past with Nanami—he knew better than anyone that you were both different people before crossing paths.

And you have never been so comfortable with someone after hearing that.

Nothing mattered, nothing that happened before being in his arms mattered.

That’s okay.

A mess of spontaneous trips to all kinds of places followed with time—Denmark to meet his father’s side of the father, Ireland just because, Norway for the proposal amidst the white clouds of snow…

It just made sense.

Everything around Nanami felt so relieving, like being on cloud 9 without worrying about ever crashing down.

He held you.

And he gave, gave, gives, and gives.

Even when having nothing.

That’s the difference between him and Higuruma.

Hiromi had a lot to give.

He used to give.

He had to give.

But then he just stopped giving.

You tried convincing yourself the first months after the breakup that he just didn’t want to give anything in general.

But you knew deep down that he just wasn’t giving to you anymore—he had to give for someone else.

Time, patience, interest, words.

Love.

You just weren’t worthy of it anymore.

To the point where he didn’t even have the will to even tell you that you weren’t getting anything but a heartbreak from him anymore.

Kento gives, sacrifices so you never have to ask.

Never kneel on the floor and beg for something he was born to give to you.

Love.

Talk about moving forward after the wedding came roughly two years, seriously.

There was always that silent thought at the back of your mind that one day he’d be a great father anyway with his soft hands and his kind voice.

When the baby came, nestled quietly and warmly within you, everything started shining more like the world had been coated in a layer of euphoria.

And you intended on keeping it quiet, on the low for the entire pregnancy. Only you and your husband calmly setting the nursery up without pained walls but built cribs till his mother insisted on throwing a lavish baby shower for the first grandson of the family.

Nanami has no other siblings so it was a huge deal, and you were already too gummy around the edges with his mother to deny the sweet elderly woman anything.

She insisted on you bringing some people—a set number of at least 5 from each side of the couple.

Which in you and Nanami’s book was bring exactly five people. No more and no less.

He brought Gojo, Shoko, Haibara and a good work partner from his company that had earned his trust over the last few years.

You didn’t really pay attention to whoever he was, you just knew he’d be bringing a plus one so Kento’s list was completed.

You called Utahime whom you went to college with, two of your childhood best friends, and two old coworkers that you still kept in touch with.

The baby shower came in a whim while you and Kento tried keeping the nerves of becoming new parents through classes at bay. Under the covers.

Mira—Nanami’s mom—is actually a very social butterfly of a woman. Never shying away from a conversation that will get her what she wants.

So your backyard was covered in purples, baby pinks and pale blues on a Friday. Friends scattered around like those orbs you used to play with as a kid that randomly fell out of their bag.

Food was on the table, mostly carbs because that’s all you could stomach as the smell of red meat would sent you retching in the nearest trashcan.

And you were enveloped in the softest cream dress. Off the shoulder, elastic but tight enough to show the plumpness of your breasts and the curve of your ass that had grown and that only Kento had the right to see.

The evening was going better than you both had expected it to go; you weren’t nauseous, people were having fun sober, conversations flowing and surrounding you and Nanami in low mutters.

His hand was on the small of your back, keeping you grounded, feeling every shift of your emotions through the tips of his fingers.

Your honey voice rung in his ear, small and pleased as you held a glass of raspberry lemonade in your hand.

“Is there anyone missing on your hand, baby?”

The hand on your back slid around your waist as he gently pulled you closer to his side—hair brushing the end of his baby pink pin that signalled he was on team girl.

You had a blue pin on, even when something deep down in you was whispering girl names.

He hummed a low hum that made his chest rumble and transfer onto your skin.

“My coworker.” He clarified, tone calm and relaxed specifically reserved for you.

Just as you are about to finally question about this good partner, the back white picket fence lock rattles and two figures spill into the space with flowers in their hands.

Two large bouquets, one pink and one blue. Large enough to cover their faces as they search for the mutual that ties them to this place.

The taller figure, oddly familiar with the long slim legs and sharp shoulders walks over to Nanami who still hasn’t budged or made an effort to get to them.

A shorter woman follows the new figure.

She drops the pale flowers down and you feel the wind knock out of your chest square.

No.

No, no, no.

Your eyes slowly trail up to the man next to her, his hand also dropping and revealing his face behind the blue bouquet as he stares at your husband.

No.

He’s about to start talking, lips already parting in a greeting when he catches your figure in the corner of his eye and it seems like the atmosphere thickens with tension.

Nanami locks eyes with the shorter woman.

Jaw locking, hand around your waist pulling you tighter subconsciously.

Both of you tense against each other’s bodies as the silence drags on.

Kento is the first to shatter from the nightmare he seems to have been pulled in after seeing his ex-wife come with his partner.

He’s about to question the other man if he knows her even when the answer is slapping him in the face but he’s met with the sight of Higuruma’s gaze digging holes into your smooth skin.

His own eyes follow the scene. You frozen, pale like you’ve seen a ghost, lips cracked, irises shaking in shock.

Something in him lights on fire.

The celebration continues flowing like water running down a river around the four of you—unaware of the turmoil brewing in your chests.

What are the odds?

Your ex-husband standing in the middle of a future he burned to the ground, erased himself from, and found himself regretting everyday after the divorce.

You had no words to offer, just a look that said nothing and yet leave louder than anything.

His words knotted in his throat—the ones that were meant for you at least—so he turned to Nanami that was already watching him.

Seven years as his business partner, legal representative, and yet neither of them knew anything about each other.

“This—She’s… your wife?” He asked like he was scared of the answer that without being worded was already biting at him.

Nanami quirked a brow, lips pressed into a thin line like the question had already offended him and ticked him off bad.

“The mother of my child.” He confirmed, not sparing a single glance to Shizumi.

The cogs had already settled in place in both of your heads, the puzzle pieces of unfinished maps fitting together.

Shizumi, Kento’s ex-wife cheated on him with Higuruma, your ex-husband.

There was no hurt.

Nothing about this situation hurt.

You had already moved past that stage of your life long ago.

Your heels are planted in the motherhood that awaits for you two trimesters away and in the today where you carry a baby.

But it seems like Hiromi and Shizumi are still breathing the ashes of the past.

The regret.

It’s all ironic.

Which is why the first sound that comes from you is just a lighthearted laugh.

Nanami’s figure relaxes a bit by your side at the melodic sound soothing his strains away.

“Long time no see, Higuruma.” You chuckle, chest loosening, the truth knocking against another door that doesn’t haunt you anymore.

Because he may have cheated on you.

But if none of the things that happened hadn’t, you wouldn’t have met Nanami.

You wouldn’t have learned that love doesn’t die.

And you wouldn’t be where you are today. The look on his face and Shizumi’s face is one of pure and utter shock.

They remain speechless for a second as you wrap your arms securely around your husband’s forearm.

“This is my husband, Kento. But I see that you already know him.” You continue, tone even and without bitterness but so sweet that it makes the two hallucinate and think there is something else behind the innocent words.

Kento says nothing. Too confused and uncomfortable with the sight of his ex-wife before him.

There are parts of trauma that never leave.

While you may have learned how to cope with what Higuruma did to you.

You wouldn’t ever forgive Shizumi for what she did to Kento no matter how much he tells you its in the past.

“Shizumi.”

She shudders at the switch of your voice. Despite smiling, your voice is dripping with anger.

“I believe you aren’t welcome here.”

Hiromi stays quiet by her side, half frozen from seeing you and half getting eaten away by guilt, shame and fear all at once.

He doesn’t defend her.

He doesn’t need to.

They aren’t anything but fuck buddies after he couldn’t find it in him to commit to anyone after you.

And her being his assistant doesn’t help his case of coming with her.

Her eyes flicker to Kento as you feel your blood boil even hotter, brown eyes trying to peer up at his distant ones only focused on you, and ask for help.

Once she sees she won’t get a chance to talk to him at all, not today and not in this world again, she’s scrambling.

Dropping the flowers on the reception table, throwing her purse quickly over her shoulders and disappearing out the door.

Now, back to Higuruma.

The tension is the air lingers, wrapping around his throat as you and Nanami stare back at him.

You’re out of the few words you reluctantly gave them.

Which is when Kento steps in.

His hand falls from your waist to your hip, fingers curling in slightly where your baby bump curves your stomach upwards.

A tiny little body growing in there, all him and all you.

None of Higuruma or Shizumi.

That makes him smile a smile that makes Higuruma pale.

“Welcome, Hiromi.”

Kento is well aware of your ex-husband eating away at his cuticles in the corner of the function, hidden under a tree.

Trying to make himself physically invisible as he watches your every move.

The sway of the hips he had the right to grip once, the peak of your belly that would’ve been there for him if he hadn’t fucked up.

Instead, his blonde coworker holds your tummy, lifting the weight off your pelvis with no effort when he sees you too drained.

He watches with a pained expression when you curl into Nanami—a happy smile on your face, a relaxed one he might have never seen before—and press the knife in the cake over your husband’s knuckles.

The blade of the knife is painted a faint pink.

And his heart lurches because he knows how you once dreamed about a little princess with plastic heels and shiny tiaras running around the house.

Now, you fulfil that dream with someone else.

Someone whose first instinct is to naturally kiss your temple with a shy but uncontrollable smile on his face when he sees the color.

Nanami knows you on a level Higuruma locked himself out of.

And it burns.

But oh if it isn’t the consequence of his own decision.

JJK MASTERLIST, TAGLIST.

Anyway I think this is the last of my requests, I will continue my own projects nowwww..

NSFW

➳sometimes when he comes home after messing up on a court case its his excuse to rough you up even tho he would do it without an excuse. On days like that he bruises your cervix from how hard he fucks you

➳he is ashamed about this but secretly loves it when you call him daddy and says stuff like "awh baby is it too big for you? does it huwt?" in a mocking voice

➳uses his tie like a leash on you and chokes you with it just enough to hurt a little

➳gets cuteness aggression and just wants to face fuck you when you look too cute and he loves ruining your makeup that took you so long to do and after hes done and coats your face in white sticky cum he smears your lipstick on your cheek with his thumb and say "sorry baby i didnt mean to" and kisses your cheek

➳loves it when you ride his face he knows how much you love his nose and when you grab a fist full of his hair to hold on, he holds you down by your thighs while hes laying and you are sitting on his face so you cant stand up and overstimulates you and makes you scream and beg him to stop even after you come

➳loves just being nasty while he has sex with you, if you didnt notice by now he has a thing for corrupting you and humiliates you by making you rub your cunt on his shoes and beg him to fuck you and wont do it till you actually nut on his foot and hug his leg while your hips shake from grinding against his shoelaces

➳loves biting your chubby cheeks and adores your baby face while he fuck you licking your whole face

➳loves it when you wear pigtails and pulling on them while he fucks your face making you choke on his cock

➳buys you cute bunny, cat, maid exc. lingerie his face is actually burning red when he sees you all dolled up in stuff like that just for him kinda like that

➳he has a thing for pantyhose and taking them off with his teeth

➳he doesn't whimper but he grunts and is very vocal when he fucks

➳this man has 38 years of experience trust me he knows where the clit is and he is abusing it for sure and overstimulating you

➳says stuff like "i know baby i know, you are so brave for me, you are doing so good" as his forehead is touching yours and hes making you look down at your tummy bulge as he fucks in and out of you in missionary

➳apologizes after pushing you too far after you are done and kisses you all over, washes your body and spoils you knowing hes gonna do it all over again next time