The rain is heavy, almost deafening as the droplets strike the canopy of leaves above your head, but the silhouette of the witch you’re tailing is shielded from the downpour by a sphere of shimmering magic. He’s stooped over in his little bubble of sunshine, plucking some mushrooms from the ground into a basket. It’s been hours of this, lurking just out of sight as you battle internally over whether you really want to speak to him. Whether it would break or mend your heart to hear his voice again.

Your body is beginning to protest the cold of the rain, joints groaning in discomfort as you shift up from the crouch you had held in the brush. You step carefully from the cover of the trees and make your way towards the grey cloaked witch, your approach concealed by the pattering of the rain until you step into the protective bubble.

“Mind sharing your umbrella?”

Qifrey recoils from the sound of your voice as if he’s been burned. As he turns to fix his gaze on you, the glowering expression on his face intensifies when he sees the brimmed cap rested on your head. You should be used to that look by now, but it still sends a brief pang of hurt through your chest.

“Must you always look so venomous when I visit?”

“What do you want?”

Despite the scowl he’s still wearing like armor, there’s a tinge of gentle sadness in his voice as he straightens up. You pout half-heartedly at the way he’s withdrawn his hands into his cloak, obviously in search of his components.

“Just to talk,” You lift your hat from your head, beginning to wring the rainwater from your soaked hair. “To see how you’re doing; how the girls are.”

Qifrey scoffs coldly. “I’m swell, thanks for your concern. We’ve developed a conscience now, have we? Or are you here to collect information for your higher-ups?”

His mocking tone sparks an anger that burns deep in your chest. To suggest you possess no real regard for their well-being, knowing you abandoned witch society in pursuit of the goal he is only willing to chase in shadow, that is a disrespect that cuts deep. You place your cap back onto your head, ignoring the way the crease between his brows deepens as it obscures your eyes.

“Don’t take a moral high ground against me, Qifrey. Don’t you dare accuse me of trading the safety of those children for reputation points among the Brimmed Caps.”

“I’m supposed to believe you joined the Brimmed Caps just for the aesthetics?”

The air buzzes with a simmering tension, as if the forest itself is waiting to see which of you will escape your standoff unscathed. These trees had seen the two of you in every stage of your relationship; the awkward first kiss, the stolen moments away from the responsibilities of teaching, the fallout of realizing some things are too painful for love to mend.

“I did it for us. For you.” Angry tears pool at the edges of your eyes, hot and infuriating in their testament to your emotions. You grit your teeth and force the wavering from your voice. “Not all things can be cured within the confines of the Pact, you of all people understand that; I’m not sorry for having the sense to seek out a solution you’re too cowardly to even consider.”

“Oh, I’m the coward?” Qifrey takes a threatening step towards you, his one eye wide with frustration. “You want to accuse me of cowardice as you hide beneath that brim?”

This was not how you wanted this encounter to pan out. As delusional a hope it was, each time you came you wished for a happier reunion. It never was. You begin to retreat, to put some distance between yourself and him, but Qifrey lunges forward as if on instinct and captures your wrist in his hand.

“Face me and tell me what makes your path deserving of my respect, Brimmed Cap.” He spit the words at you with such vigor that it must knock all sense from your mind.

A tidal wave of emotions crashes through you, and your hand closes around the golden pendant that joins the two halves of his cloak together. You yank him to you, and before your lips have even met, he’s thrown his willowy arms around you, holding you so tightly it hurts. The kiss is desperate and harsh, it’s almost cathartic. You feel your anger dissipate, as if it was merely a toxin you needed Qifrey to siphon from your bloodstream. You lock your arms around his neck, desperate for this to last forever. If you could not have his love, you would drown yourself in his hatred. This messy, hostile tension would have to substitute for the gentle kind of companionship you had once before. He pulls away from you, breathing heavily, and you can only afford enough time for a few gulps of air before you’re pulling his face back to yours. It’s as if the second he withdraws you’ll come unraveled, too fragile to return to the bitter reality of who you both are. This kiss tastes like salt, warm tears that you can’t determine the source of. He’s released his grip on your waist, tangling his long slender fingers up into your hair and knocking your hat from your head.

And then the rain drops onto the two of you like a sheet.

The seal Qifrey had drawn to ward of the water is crumpled in the palm of his hand, ruined in the intensity of your embrace. The drenching is a harsh return to earth; Qifrey shudders with the sudden cold and pulls away from you, sucking in gasps of air as he tries to process what just happened between you. There’s a pain in his expression that makes you want to reach for him, but it feels wrong to now that the moment is over.

“Tell me it’s worthwhile.” Qifrey is boring holes into you with the intensity of his gaze, that blue eye zeroed in on you as if he can see the doubt laced into your heart. You pick up your cap, anxious to replace the shield of the brim onto your head. “Tell me the shred of hope to find some way to be healed with magic was worth throwing your life away. That you don’t regret giving up all you’ve lost in accepting forbidden magic.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate what exactly you gave up. The words hang unspoken in the damp air of the forest.

Tell me it was worth losing me.

Now that his spell is gone, the moisture feels suffocating; though that might just be your heart lodged in your throat that’s making it hard to draw breath.

You’re grateful that the very cap he’s condemning shields your face some as you feel the tears you’ve been collecting again finally cascade down your cheeks. He would take them as surrender; as evidence that you thought you’d made a mistake in pursuing forbidden magic to try and revive the practice of healing witches.

He would be wrong.

“We could have found ways to ease the pain.” Qifrey’s voice is still stern, but it lacks the bite of true anger. “Olly could have made you some contraption to help you manage it, to help make drawing easier.”

You flex your hands anxiously within your cloak, the dull ache you know will crescendo into agony after a day spent in the chilling rain making itself known with each movement. No number of herbs, Healing Spire visits, or warming contraptions from Olruggio could rid you of that horrible pain nestled deep in your bones.

“We would have kept looking for our antidotes together. You would have had my love to soothe your pain.” The slightest crack is there in the words my love.

“Your love was never going to be my cure.”

The guilt that strikes you as you say it seems to tilt the earth beneath you; you feel sick.

“Then why do you return to me like a moth to flame? Why torture us both with ghosts of what was?”

There’s no good answer you can give. He’s a vice to you, a reprieve from the darkness of your world that you selfishly seek out like an antidote to your fear. He can’t save you, but he’s like the umbrella spell in a way, a patch of sun to retreat to when the sky unleashes a downpour.

“Until next time, Qifrey.” You tug the brim back down to conceal your eyes, closing out your own umbrella spell and once more shielding the small clearing from the heavy rain. You leave behind the seal as you turn your back on the silver-haired witch, a feeble attempt at an apology for ripping open old wounds.

Perhaps one day there will be a world in which you two can reconcile your differences. But for today, you must leave him. Even if it’s a pain more agonizing than any physical ache you’ve ever experienced.

──────•✦•──────

While you were busy rushing off with a whine, overthinking and already planning how your funeral would go, because Flins was definitely following you around to kill you and quietly dispose of you body. You had upset some sort of lantern spirit and it had snitched to the one light keeper that it could talk to, and now your fate was sealed!

"I'm sorryyyyyy, lantern ghost!" you whined, footsteps leading to Paha isle.

Flins watched you run off, his gaze soft and curious, but a small pout on his lips that went unnoticed. His eyes snapped back to the old shopkeeper when the man began to speak again. "Stop scaring her away, Flins," he sighed and packaged the Rye before handing it to the light keeper, "Just get it done by today," he said, face darkening, almost grim, and placing something extra into the bag.

Flins hummed, his face straight, as he paid for the Rye and took the bag. His eyes downcast. "I will… after all, I know where my lady is going. I'll be a gentleman, as always. Have no worries, Mr. Aleksov." 

The old man nodded, handing Flins a packet of tissues. His grey, tired eyes only sparing Flins a glance before focusing on other customers. "Keep your hands clean, be quick and done with it." The words were quiet, but enough for a wandering Dori to hear, and look over confused with wide eyes.

"Are they… planning a murder?" she gasped, before smirking and looking off into the distance, rubbing her chin, "Heh, I could make good money selling caskets."

. . .

You had wandered over to Final night cemetery, walking slowly across the dark and gloomy terrain. There were ghost candles lit all over the place, and you could've sworn that you heard whispers around you. "save us… save ussss…" you shivered at your imagination, slowly walking up the hill area to try and find the lantern ghost you had seen last time.

"uheee…. mr. purple lantern ghost, where are you?" you whispered, shivering before looking up at the lighthouse. The fog closing in around you. 

The silence around you was deafening, and it was most definitely scaring you down to your bones. Taking you back to the night you had first seen that purple, glowing lantern. 

It had been almost two months ago, when you had wandered over to Paha isle. You had seen some of the wild hunt nearby and killed them, before hearing whispers and hallucinating ghosts in the fog from your sleepiness. You had rushed over to Paha isle by mistake, going the wrong way instead of making your way back to Nasha town in your confused state. 

"Oh," you had muttered, when the fog cleared up, and you had seen the lighthouse guiding you, instead of the comforting bustle of the town you lived in. You were about to turn around and make your way back, before you noticed the purple glow. Almost like it was calling your name, you followed and walked up to it through the fog, finding a floating purple lantern. 

It was almost like it was magical, just hovering there, glowing. No one around.

The words of Aino had drifted back into your mind, as she had made you read story books with her and one of them talked about a magical oil lamp that granted wishes. "No one uses oil lamps in in Nod Krai, I bet its the magical lanterns that carry genies and wishes!" she had nodded confidently. 

You weren't gullible, nor one to easily believe superstitions and follow them without question. Though… it couldn't hurt, right?

Your hands gently placed on the sides of the lamp, rubbing it gently, before you took them back and clasped your hands together. Squeezing your eyes shut and whispering, "puh-lease get me a beautiful boyfriend who's a gentleman and loves me and worships me, please, please, please!" you shook your hands before looking up at the sky with a sigh. 

The lantern had flickered a little, as you hesitated before leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on the handle of it. When you pulled back, the lantern shook a little, making you step back worried, and look around confused. You had rushed back to Nasha town after that, brushing off the experience as a dream, until now. 

"Am I gonna die? Oh mr. or mrs. lantern, I'm sorry for kissing your handle," present-day-you whined, before you felt a cold breath against your cheek. 

"What are you doing, Miss Y/N?"

You shrieked, freezing up and quickly back away from the man, holding up your hands in front of him. It was the light keeper. The one you always took a second glance at whenever you used your see him, because whoever got to call him as his partner was destined with unimaginable luck. Flins looked unbothered and even tilted his head to the side, confused.

"I know what you're gonna say!" You whined out, and dropped to your knees dramatically. Flins was strong, he was scary, and even if he took your life because you had upset some lantern ghost, you probably wouldn't fight back just because you didn't want to ruin his beautiful face.

"You do?" his eyes widened for a fraction, before he hummed and nodded, holding the small bag to his side. "I see, I thought I was more… quiet about my advances." he muttered, rubbing his chin gently, in thought.

You sighed and nodded, head downcast, pouting and already thinking over your death. "I didn't know what I was doingggg.. the lantern was just… calling my name!" you gasped out, as he shook his head. "It was not," he corrected bluntly, making you sigh wearily. Your hands buried in the soil. 

A few seconds passed, before you both spoke up at the same time. You blurting out your words. As he spoke eloquently.

"Please don't murder me!"

"Would you grace me with a potential romantic encounter, miss Y/N?"

You both froze, before meeting each other's eyes. equally confused. Flins eyes were narrowed, looking down in genuine confusion and slight shock. The most expressive you had ever seen him. Your eyes were widened, mouth agape slightly, and heat rushing to your face. Did… did the Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins just ask you out? On a date? Were you in heaven?

"What?" both voices spoke out at the same time.

Flins shook his head, looking at you utterly helpless and bamboozled as you stood up and dusted your hands off. “You’re not going to murder me…? B-but you were stalking me and obviously planning to kill me off because I upset the lantern ghost of Paha Isle!”

Flins looked side to side slowly before raising an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

You sighed and lolled back your head before explaining to him exasperatedly. “Two months ago, I went to this place, like—“ you pointed over to some shrubbery alongside a crumbling stone wall, “—over there! I saw this glowing purple lantern and I walked up to it and rubbed it and wished for a boyfriend,” you nodded to him in complete seriousness.

“…so what makes you assume that I’d hurt you for wishing upon a floating lantern?” He raised an eyebrow, beginning to smile a little, starting to understand what was happening. He really wanted to see the look on your face when he revealed the truth now. He had prepared a big speech explaining all of his feelings, but you had thrown his whole planned confession out the window.

You blinked, once, twice, before awkwardly scratching the back of your head. “I’m starting to see that I was being a bit… irrational,” you nodded slowly.

“A bit?” He smiled, before handing you the paper bag, to which you looked inside curiously. Rye, and…

“Cupcakes. I had Mr. Aleksov prepare them especially for your tastes,” he hummed to you, watching as your confused expression flickered up to him before your eyes widened. “Oh! Oh, right, because you were going to ask me out…” you nodded, before pursing your lips and looking up at him confused. “But we’ve barely spoken to one another before this, why the sudden interest in me?”

He curtly nodded, before taking out the familiar glowing purple lantern and fading before your eyes. It only took 2.3 seconds for you to connect the dots, his figure reappearing when he saw that shy, “oh my god, what have I done?” look on your face.

“I was the lantern you wished upon,” he told you gleefully, tilting his head to the side with a teasing smile.

A whine escaped your lips, as you were contemplating burying yourself in the soil right then and there. “After hearing about your wish, I thought that you were a gorgeous young lady that deserved love, and after the… kiss,” he nodded, watching your eyes squeeze shut and hand cover your face. “I thought that I deserved to give you love. I never planned to stalk you, per se, but every time I tried to strike a conversation or anything with you…”

“I ran away,” you nodded, letting out an embarrassed whine and finishing his sentence.

He hummed, before taking the bag from your hands and offering you the cupcake. “My hands are pretty dirty,” you shrugged, still embarrassed and hating yourself inside your brain. “STUPID STUPID STUPID” kept bouncing around in your head.

Before you knew it, the cupcake was pressed against your lips, heat rushing to your cheeks and the tips of your ears, you took a bite out of it. Being fed by possibly the most handsome man in all of Teyvat.

“I’ve had a crush on you for a while…” you mumbled, swallowing and beginning to talk to him softly, as he listened carefully. “You saved me from the wild hunt around a year ago, and ever since then I’ve just thought you were so cool, and strong, and handsome,” you were whining, hands covering your cheeks shyly.

He didn’t hesitate, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss against your lips.

You froze, before feeling his lips dart out and lick up the tiny bit of icing on the corner of your lips, making your squeal embarrassed and quickly look away from him. Hands covering your face, heart beating faster than it was when you thought he was about to kill you.

“I hope you’ll entertain me for that date, my lady,” he spoke softly against your ear, smiling as he knew exactly what he was doing.

Smug bastard.

You jerk upright too fast and immediately hit your head on the underside of the shelf.

“Oh for—”

Strong hands catch your shoulders before you can stumble backward completely. “Easy there.”

You freeze.

Varka stands behind you, broad and unfairly warm-looking. His hand is still steady at your shoulder. Concern flickers over his face for approximately half a second before amusement returns.

“You alive?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. “Barely.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Well,” he says, “that’s good news for the Logistics Company.”

Your brain stops functioning for a moment. Because of course you know who he is.

Everyone knows Varka.

The Grand Master walks through headquarters like sunlight with boots on. He is loud when he wants to be, gentle when he chooses to be, somehow capable of making exhausted knights straighten instinctively just by looking at them.

You’ve watched it happen from a safe distance for months: the way rooms shift when he enters, the way people gravitate toward him without quite meaning to.

You have always watched from a safe distance. Because up close, apparently, you lose the ability to form sentences.

“Here,” he says easily. “What’re you missing?”

“You don’t have to help,” you blurt out immediately.

“Mm.” He leans down to peer into the shelf. “Too late. I’m emotionally invested now.”

You stare at the side of his face while he reaches into the back of the shelf with absurd ease: arm disappearing almost to the elbow between the crates like this is a perfectly normal way for the Grand Master to spend an afternoon.

“You reorganized these recently?”

“…Yes?”

“Hm. Good system. Bad luck. Bit philosophical for a storage room, actually.” A pause. “Aha.”

He straightens with your missing ledger in hand.

You could cry. “You found it.”

“Well,” Varka says modestly, “I am heroic when I need to be.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself. His expression changes into something warm. “There it is,” he says softly, handing you the ledger. “Worth the rescue mission.”

Your face heats instantly. “Oh. Um. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He steps aside, still smiling. “Though next time I’d recommend less aggressive negotiations with the shelves.”

And then he just leaves.

Meanwhile you stand there clutching the ledger to your chest while your heart attempts to physically exit your body.

You’re aware it’s ridiculous.

You see him regularly. He’s the Grand Master and a person who is, objectively speaking, very busy and very important and almost certainly not spending any time thinking about a logistics person who hit their head on a shelf.

You’re aware of all of this. It doesn’t help. Because now you notice things.

The way he stops to talk to everyone: the younger knights waiting nervously for assignments, the people who pass him in corridors, the guards at the gate who straighten when they see him coming. He remembers names. He asks after people. He laughs easily and means it.

He gives everyone that warm, unhurried attention.

Everyone.

You notice someone come back from his office practically glowing. You watch the new recruits light up when he claps them on the shoulder. You watch another knight smile at something he says from across the room.

And you think: Right. That’s just who he is. That’s just how he treats everyone. There’s nothing special about a man who’s genuinely kind to literally every person he encounters.

You think this very rationally. And then he passes you in the corridor, glances over, says “Good afternoon” with that smile—

And you walk directly into a door frame.

So that’s where you are with this.

The first note is accidental. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

You’re delivering paperwork to Varka’s office late in the afternoon, arms full of reports and requests and three separate forms requiring signatures in entirely different places.

Varka isn’t there yet. You set the stack down carefully. And then you notice the open window behind his desk.

The weather really is nice today. Bright skies, good wind, warm enough that people are lingering outside instead of rushing home. And Varka has been in meetings since morning. You know because you walked past his office three times on errands and heard voices each time.

Before you can overthink it, you tear a corner from your spare paper and scribble quickly:

The weather is unusually nice today. You should probably enjoy it before someone traps you in another meeting.

Then you sign it with your intitial.

You stare at it, then immediately try to grab it back. At that exact moment the office door opens.

You nearly launch yourself into the ceiling. Varka pauses in the doorway. You stand frozen beside his desk like a thief interrupted mid-robbery, fingers still hovering over the note.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asks carefully.

“No.” Too fast.

His eyebrows lift. You feel heat climbing all the way to your ears.

“I was just delivering paperwork,” you say, trying very hard to sound like a functional person. “The forms. For signing. Which are here. On your desk. Which is where I put them. Because that’s my job.”

A pause follows.

“Right,” he says slowly.

“Mm.”

His eyes flick briefly to the note, then back to you. Something amused flickers there. “Well,” he says easily, setting his coat aside, “that seems significantly less illegal than your expression suggested.”

You make a sound somewhere between a cough and a failed prayer.

Varka smiles wider. “Thank you,” he adds, quieter. “For the paperwork.”

“Of course.” You are already moving toward the door. “I’ll—yes. Goodbye.”

You leave with as much dignity as you can salvage. Which is not very much.

Varka doesn’t mention the note the next time he sees you. Neither do you. So you do it again.

The second note comes three days later:

The Sunsettia are particularly good this week. In case you haven’t had a chance to eat properly today. (Rumors suggest you haven’t.)

You cringe for approximately three hours after leaving it, again with your initial. Then you spend another two hours convincing yourself it’s fine. It’s just a note. People are thoughtful. This is normal.

The next morning there’s a Sunsettia sitting on top of the outgoing paperwork in your tray. No note. Just the fruit.

You stare at it for a very long time.

The notes continue. You tell yourself each one will be the last.

Two knights came back from patrol today. They looked tired but proud. I thought you’d want to know they made it back without trouble.

━━

There’s an herb growing near Springvale that’s been blooming unusually late this season.

The smell is quite something. Warm and a bit sharp, the kind that clears your head.

I thought maybe it would help you with the long days.

━━

I heard the meeting ran long again. I hope it was at least interesting.

If not: the pigeons near the bridge have been having a very dramatic morning. That’s free, and arguably more entertaining.

━━

I am going to perish, you think. But you keep writing them anyway.

━━

Varka finds himself looking for them.

He notices the slight lift when he sits down at his desk and spots a folded corner tucked beneath the official stack. Then he sets aside the reports that need immediate attention and reads the small square of paper first.

It’s such a small thing. Observations, mostly. Small careful kindnesses wrapped in your handwriting.

He doesn’t know what to make of it.

He knows the initial, knows who it is. He remembers the storage room, the head-bump, the laugh he didn’t expect to enjoy quite so much. He has seen you since: brief appearances to deliver forms, the occasional corridor crossing where you turn slightly pink and find something very interesting to look at on the floor.

Sincere in a way that’s oddly refreshing. Clearly not used to being looked at directly.

He finds himself making sure not to look too directly. It feels important not to make you uncomfortable.

Surely you don’t mean anything by it, he thinks, setting down a note about particularly good bread. Just a kind person. Thoughtful. Nothing more.

He almost convinces himself.

The in-between visits are the part that get him. You come by his office on ordinary business: forms, updates, once a misdirected delivery that required an apology and a very long explanation.

Each time you knock carefully, state your purpose clearly, hand over whatever needs handing, and then say something genuine and slightly unexpected that throws the whole exchange sideways.

“I reorganized the archives,” you tell him during one visit, while he’s signing forms. “I thought—the expedition records were hard to cross-reference. It made more sense to sort differently.”

He glances up. “Did you run that past Hertha?”

“I asked her first.”

“Good,” he says softly.

“Also,” you add, “I noticed the supply requisitions have been delayed two weeks. It might be the routing. I fixed it.”

Varka sets his pen down. “Just like that?”

“It wasn’t complicated. Just overlooked.” A pause. “I didn’t want the knights waiting longer than necessary.”

He looks at you for a moment. You immediately find something fascinating on the wall beside his head.

“Thank you,” he says. He means it more than the words cover.

You nod, gather your folders, and leave with the specific energy of someone trying very hard not to run.

Just a kind person, he thinks again but quieter this time.

The note that does it is the last one.

It comes on an unremarkable Tuesday, tucked beneath an ordinary report:

I know the meeting is tomorrow. I don’t know what it’s about but I imagine it’s the kind that makes the day feel longer than it is.

I hope it goes well. I hope you get to sleep at a reasonable hour.

I hope you will—

(Sorry. That got away from me.)

Varka reads it twice, then sits back in his chair.

I hope.

Such a small word to carry so much in it.

He thinks about the Sunsettia left without explanation. The herb that clears your head. The pigeons having a dramatic morning. Two knights making it home.

He thinks about the way you find the wall beside his head extremely interesting whenever he says something kind. The way you said I didn’t want the knights waiting longer than necessary like it was obvious.

He’s been telling himself not to assume. He has been doing it so carefully, so deliberately, that he somehow forgot to pay attention to the actual evidence.

He picks up a pen.

You’re in the middle of reconciling three separate inventory counts that absolutely should agree and absolutely do not, when there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” you say, mostly to the ledger.

“Hm.”

You look up. Varka is leaning in the doorway.

Your brain does the thing it always does, which is briefly stop working. “Grand Master,” you manage.

“You’re busy,” he observes.

“A little.” You look down at the ledger. “The numbers are—they’re not agreeing.”

“They rarely do.” He steps inside, which is unusual. He doesn’t usually come here. You go to him.

You become very interested in your ledger.

“I got your note,” he says.

“I—yes.” Your pen is doing something strange in your hand. “I apologize if it was—”

“Don’t.”

You look up.

He’s watching you with a warm expression. “I got all of them,” Varka says. “I’ve been reading them since the first one.”

“I know. I mean—I assumed. I didn’t expect—” You take a deep breath. “I just wanted you to know that people notice. What you do. And that it matters.” You’re staring very hard at your desk. “That’s all it was.”

“Was it?”

“…Mostly,” you admit.

The silence is extremely long.

“Have dinner with me.”

Your head comes up fast.

Varka looks back at you steadily, waiting, genuinely, for your answer.

“I—” Your voice does something embarrassing. “Yes. I’d—yes. I’d like that.”

Something in his face settles. “Good.” He straightens, already turning toward the door. Then he pauses and pulls a folded piece of paper from his coat. He writes something else on the bottom, grinning to himself.

You squint your eyes but don’t comment.

He sets the note on your desk, then leaves.

You stare at it for a long moment before you unfold it:

The view from the Statue of the Seven is particularly good this week.

You should probably see it before the season changes.

Tomorrow evening, if you’re free.

—V.

P.S. The numbers in column four are transposed. That’s why they’re not agreeing.

You look at column four.

He’s right.

You put your face in your hands and smile so hard it hurts.

⋆ ✦ ⋆

A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :)

© kurapikapikachuu | Please do not feed any of my work into AI. Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3 lots of love, chuu!

The name of the woman in the painting is Xinyue. The ring on her finger was placed there by the creator of the Xianzhou Empire, Emperor Jing Yuan. This overly detailed portrait was a gift from him to her. It’s to display the beauty and grace of the future Empress.

But that story is why you hold disdain for the painting. Because only months before, another portrait was in this very spot for the same reasoning.

Her painting replaced yours.

Here, in the Xianzhou Palace, your existence is well known. You play an important and occasionally overlooked role in the Royal Court. Politics. The peace treaties between the Empire and other kingdoms were made possible through you. Battles were avoided because of your interference. Alliances hadn’t been broken by your influence.

Before Xinyue, you were the future Empress to be. Jing Yuan adored you, he praised you, he loved you. While he was the fighter, you were the tactician. A perfect pair to rule over the Empire.

And so suddenly, the ring was removed from your finger. Another woman began to roam the palace halls with a different ring given to her by Jing Yuan that held the same meaning. Forged to her exact measurements and liking, Lady Xinyue is now the bride to be for the Emperor. He adores her, he praises her, he loves her.

Now your painting is gone. It is stored in a location unknown to you, serving only to collect dust.

He gave you no reasoning behind his actions. Why had he discarded you off to the side that easily? Years of loyalty to each other and it ended abruptly.

“My Lady,” A voice from the end of the hall directed your attention away from the painting. There is a servant who had been tasked with finding you. She witnessed you intently staring at the artwork hanging on the wall. Knowing your story, she felt a sense of pity deep down in her heart for you. “The guests from Amphoreus are waiting. The meeting will begin soon.”

Amphoreus. A vast land which you had never been to. It was hard to explain how different things worked there compared to the Xianzhou Empire. But of course, like other country leaders, they were here for the exact same reasoning.

Your eyes flicked over to the painting again and then gave the servant a curt nod as a sign of thanks, “Very well.”

It wouldn’t be proper of you to keep the guests of Amphoreus waiting. So, you followed behind the servant woman. The image of the painting lingered in the back of your mind. Unfortunately, with how many times you passed by it since it was hung, you knew it well to the most minute detail.

You arrived outside of the Royal Courts meeting room. All important discussions were held here and away from the prying ears of the servants. Two Cloud Knights stood on either side of the double doors.

Today, behind those doors, were three of the twelve Chrysos Heirs from Amphoreus. Lady Aglaea, Lord Phainon, and Lord Mydeimos.

In recent times, Jing Yuan expressed his interest in having Amphoreus become part of the Xianzhou Empire. This would give him total and absolute control over the region. What that meant is that you would get stuck doing all the diplomatic work. You were very good at what you did, but the Emperor seemed to have a hard time comprehending how impossible it was to sway the Chrysos Heirs.

They weren’t bad people. They, however, were extremely intelligent. They knew how to deny whenever something felt the slightest bit wrong to them. After all, it was twelve of them and only one of you.

Regardless, the guards opened the doors for you. The attendees for today’s meeting were already sitting down at the table. Members of the Xianzhou Royal Court had huddled themselves by the head of the table, the chair reserved for the Emperor. Though you weren’t too focused on them.

As soon as you stepped into the room, the sound of two chairs being pushed back made everyone’s heads turn in that direction. Phainon and Mydei were both standing. It was nice to see that the men of Amphoreus held the utmost respect for women. They at least still stood up whenever a lady walked into the room.

At their side was Aglaea, who continued to remain seated with the others but kindly smiled at you.

“My Lady,” She then stood up once you drew closer to them, “It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Lady Aglaea.” You said, shifted your gaze to the other two Chrysos Heirs to greet them. Phainon gently took your hand in his and bowed as a sign of respect. Mydei copied his action, more careful with his clawed armor. “Gentlemen, thank you for being here.”

“It's always an honor to be in your presence.” Phainon said, placing a hand on his chest.

The heavy doors creaked, indicating someone else had arrived. There is a shift in the atmosphere in the room. His Grace, Jing Yuan, entered.

Everyone immediately stood up and turned to bow. His boots clicked against the floor. But there were a second pair of footsteps that followed. He hadn’t arrived alone, and you weren’t expecting him to. He had his betrothed, Xinyue, following behind him. Your brows slowly narrowed despite trying to hide your expression.

A frown settled on Aglaea’s face, but she covered it up by clearing her throat and placing the back of her hand over her lips. Neither Phainon nor Mydei were pleased at this turn of events. When the Emperor suddenly broke off your long term engagement, the news spread across the lands. His actions were considered an abomination in the eyes of Amphoreus, a sign of ultimate disrespect towards you.

“Greetings,” Jing Yuan stopped once he reached the head of the table. He noticed that amongst everyone in the room, you weren’t looking at him. As per usual, you were being cold towards him. “My apologies, I haven’t had time to properly address the three of you since your arrival at the Empire.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Your Grace.” Aglaea said, “You’re a busy man. We understand.”

“Xinyue will be joining us for this meeting.” He motioned over to his fiancée standing right beside him. She held her hands in front of her, behaving like a proper woman. “Is that alright?”

And everyone, in unison responded the same thing, “Of course, Your Grace.” Because no one could be opposed to it. So they had to accommodate and made room for Xinyue. She took the first chair, sitting on the left side of the table. It forced the Royal Court Members to all move one chair down.

You realized you wouldn’t have a place to sit. That’s until you felt a hand gently touching your upper arm to get your attention. The owner’s hand was recognizable by the feel of armor.

“My Lady.” Mydei held onto the back of his chair. He was offering his seat at the table up to you. You glanced at the open chair before walking over to it. You tucked your dress comfortably as you sat down. He then carefully pushed the chair closer to the table. This left you sitting directly across Aglaea and Phainon. A much better position since you would be doing most of the talking with the Chrysos Heirs.

“Thank you,” You said, though not sparing him a second glance. You could feel Jing Yuan’s gaze focused intently on the interaction. And not only that, Mydei remained behind you as if he were your most trusted guard, tasked with protecting you. His lingering presence was… Soothing, in a way. “Let us begin,”

The meeting proceeded. It dragged on for hours. Although on certain occasions, Feixiao and Yao Guang left their input, you had most of the control at the table. It was a back and forth between you and the three Chrysos Heirs. They were not easily persuaded by your statements.

Where Jing Yuan wanted them to see it fit that they join the Empire, they were more towards leaning into an alliance. You weren’t necessarily objecting to that idea, but you knew you’d hear a handful if you didn’t try to negotiate harder with them.

“Amphoreus has prospered under the rule of the Chrysos Heirs.” Aglaea explained, “Our people are happy. They’re content. We’ve avoided many conflicts with other countries. That is what matters most to us.”

The Heirs took their sworn oath to protect their people seriously. You were actually against trying to convince them to give up their rightful thrones. Except, you were a servant who had to fight for the Emperor’s desires. As soon as you were going to speak again, a new person decided to chime in.

“But why have twelve separate rulers, when you could be under the control of one benevolent ruler instead?” Xinyue’s voice rang from the front of the table.

You were baffled, immediately turning over to her. It silenced the others at the table. They looked amongst each other. No one wanted to say it, but they were all thinking the same thing. Xinyue wanted to play your role, and she would fail miserably at this game.

You wished you could say none of this was her fault. Since she knew of your history with Jing Yuan, she was attempting to prove herself. This was her way of saying to you that she was better, and once she became the Empress, you were no longer going to be needed. Her issue was that she had a closed minded attitude, always believing that the Xianzhou Empire could do no wrong.

“Under the control of one benevolent ruler?” The deep voice from behind you said. Mydei held back a scoff at her ignorance. Aglaea had to give him a stern look to remind him who he was speaking against. Though, it was ignored when he continued, “The people of Amphoreus don’t need history to repeat itself. We have only recently been released from Nikador’s grasp.”

Xinyue grew silent. She didn’t know of Amphoreus’ extensive history like you or other members of the Royal Court. In fact, she wasn’t very knowledgeable about the reign of the different lands either. It was unfortunate she struck a nerve in Lord Mydeimos with her comment.

You immediately looked over at Fu Xuan, retainer of the Emperor. When your gaze met hers, she instantly knew what you were trying to say. She was forced to intervene, “Why don’t we put this meeting on hold for today? I think that’s enough discussing this matter. We can continue tomorrow.”

“Yes, I do agree.” Aglaea said, her hands letting go to gently push her chair back.

You exhaled lowly in relief. Fu Xuan had leverage with her position in the Court. Ending the discussion for the time being was better before someone ended up making matters worse.

The meeting room emptied.

Everyone went on their separate paths and attended to their own matters. You had gone with Aglaea, escorting her to the guest wing where she was staying during her time here. You spoke with her, catching up now that you weren’t forced to talk about anything politically related.

Eventually, you decided to say your goodbyes so she could rest.

You wandered through the halls, heading to that same hallway from early this morning in order to return to your chambers. You arrived, only to find out you weren’t alone.

In the distance, Mydei is before that painting and examining it in silence with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s sharp enough to know someone else is in the hallway with him. You had no intentions to stop and talk to him. Your heels echoed through the empty hallway as you walked with your head held high. Just as you passed him, you were forced to stop.

“Lady (Y/N),” He called out to you. His gaze remained fixated on the painting of Xinyue. You closed your eyes for a brief moment. This meant you had to face him, otherwise, it would be improper. He asked the very question you were dreading to hear come from a guest. “Was your portrait not here before?”

How embarrassing.

“Yes, it was.” Your response was short. As expected. He glanced over his shoulder at you. He watched your reaction closely. He motioned to the canvas.

“And… Where is it now?” Mydei asked. His newest question left you puzzled. Your eyes narrowed slightly and your head tilted to the side.

“Where is what?”

“Your portrait.” He elaborated. “Where is your portrait now?”

That made you stop and think about it for a brief moment.

Jing Yuan commissioned the painting as a gift. He wanted everyone to see the beauty of the woman he was going to marry. He was a prideful man, you were his greatest treasure. With everything that happened, you never once wondered where your painting disappeared to.

Why did Mydeimos care? Was he trying to make fun of you? You, who once held the Emperor’s affection and wore his ring on your finger, didn’t even know where the painting dedicated to you had gone.

“I do not know.” You said in a defensive manner. The faintest hint of snark didn’t go unnoticed for the Kremnoan. “Why not ask a servant for its whereabouts?”

He chose to remain silent as you left. Perhaps it was a mistake to ask such a blunt question. He could have worded it differently. It wasn’t his intention to upset you. But you were gone now, and he couldn’t apologize.

His eyes went from the right end of the hallway to the left where you originally came from. Mydei stood there for a moment longer, before making up his mind. He turned the other way with the objective of finding the closest member of the Royal Court.

“You wish for me to go to Amphoreus?”

“Yes.” Jing Yuan nodded his head. He reclined in his chair while you stood across from his desk. He laced his hands together, “That’s exactly what I said. I want you to go to Amphoreus so you can see why they don’t want to join the Empire. Simple as that.”

It had been two months since the three Chrysos Heirs departed from the Empire. The meeting, as you assumed it would be, was unsuccessful. Not a single one of the offers made swayed them. They didn’t bother dwelling on it, and continued proposing an alliance.

It only made the Emperor more insistent. You couldn’t disobey. You lived in the Xianzhou Empire and held a position in the Royal Court. Obeying his direct orders were your every day command. That’s why he chose you to do every diplomatic duty for him, no matter what it was. This is what you had studied and trained for since a young age.

You weren’t fond of the idea of traveling. You truly never liked it and viewed it to be a hassle. With the change in season, the heatwaves would make your experience worse than usual.

“Perhaps they don’t see it fit to join the Empire.” You said. Jing Yuan raised his brow before a smile spread on his face and he let out a short chuckle.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” He said. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve already sent a letter. Once it’s discussed with the Chrysos Heirs and they’ve given permission, you’ll take your leave for Amphoreus immediately. Do you understand?”

If you had to argue with Anaxagoras, you might lose your mind. Instead, you exhaled and nodded your head.

“As you desire, Your Grace.” You bowed.

“Now then. That is settled. Moving on,” Jing Yuan crossed his arms over his chest, “Have you reconsidered my proposal?” Your gaze darkened for the briefest moment. But he was an attentive man, and the shift in your eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

“My answer was no the first time and it will be no each time you ask.” You said with a sharp tone. The corner of his lip twitched downwards. He placed his hands on his desk, pushing himself up from his chair.

“And why is that? You refuse to tell me your reasoning.” He walked around his desk with slow steps. He stood in front of you and reached out, his fingertips grazing your jawline. They came underneath your chin and lifted your head to meet his gaze. “Is it really such a detestable life to become my concubine? All I desire is to keep you at my side.”

This is what you had been reduced to. From his lover and fiancée to a mere puppet he could control. He’d done it so easily and with no remorse, you wondered if he ever loved you at all.

“You used to go about that in a better manner.” You held his gaze. Your words silenced him.

His proposal was like a slap in the face. He replaced you with Xinyan. And you, with an aching heart, had to accept it. Then he turned around and asked that you become a concubine once he married. His only concubine, he said. Your feelings didn't matter to him. Gone was the man you once loved.

He dropped his hand from your chin. He couldn’t find that same love and devotion in your eyes anymore. Did he miss it? The Emperor himself didn’t know.

“You are dismissed.” He flicked his hand.

His temper flared at how quickly you left his study. You had to keep your composure. You refused to show any sign of weakness in front of Jing Yuan, no matter how much you were aching inside.

Xinyue’s painting taunted you as you walked by it. It was beginning to get harder to not place the blame on her. None of this is her fault, you reminded yourself. She wasn’t the one you were engaged to and she wasn’t the one who suddenly broke it off. She believed he loved her, just as you believed it once.

What about you? Didn't you have a right to be angry at this young noble woman who appeared in the palace overnight?

There was no reason to fight over Jing Yuan’s affection. If he took it away so easily, it was never there to begin with.

The Cloud Knights patrolling your wing pushed your chamber doors open when you arrived.

Qingque was inside. Your lady in waiting is adjusting three boxes stacked on each other. She placed a vase of blooming flowers right beside them. She looked in your direction when the doors shut behind. A bright smile formed on her face, “My Lady!” She exclaimed loudly, careful to not bump into the table.

“What is this?” You asked.

“You received a gift all the way from Amphoreus!” She plucked an envelope from the top box. She held it out to you, “They sent flowers from here.”

“Amphoreus?” You repeated.

The wax seal on the back had the symbol of the Romance Titan. Aglaea. You examined the boxes. Qingque practically bounced on the balls of her feet. She seemed more excited about your gifts than you were. Maybe because she knew this was one you’d accept.

Jing Yuan, probably to cover whatever little guilt he might feel if he felt any at all, had been sending gifts to your chambers regularly. A cruel thing to do, you’d simply send them out to noble women, passing them off as your own.

As you carefully ripped the wax seal apart, you gave Qingque permission to open the boxes. You read the letter written in Aglaea’s elegant handwriting.

My dearest Lady (Y/N),

In my years of being a dressmaker, I have been commissioned by many different people. Each of the dresses that I have crafted are woven with love and dedication. The day you read this letter, it is an honor to present to you my own creations. These are creations that I believe are long overdue.

But, I must mention that the dresses you will find in these boxes were made at Lord Mydeimos’ request. When we returned to the land of Amphoreus, he paid a hefty amount for the finest silk and materials. He constantly came to look over my progress and made sure that they would be to your liking.

Though, after I finished and prepared for the gifts to be sent over, I asked if he wanted to write a letter or a note. He became rather shy, and said I could take care of that part as well.

I believe you’ve long ago entranced our Mydeimos with your lovely presence.

Sincerely, Aglaea.

“Look how beautiful they are!” Qingque said, holding one of the boxes in her hands. The other two were left on the table with the lids off. Any piece created by Aglaea was absolutely stunning. The dressmaker had a true talent.

You touched the white silk, soft under your fingertips. They were the toga dresses worn in Amphoreus. Aglaea’s signature style, no matter where she went. In another box was a red dress, and the other held a light blue.

So these were made at the request of Mydei. The brief interaction you had with him months ago in front of Xinyue’s portrait resurfaced. Now you were regretting the sharp tone you used. You folded the letter and tucked it into the envelope again.

“Qingque.” You placed the envelope down on the table by the flowers, “I expect to leave for Amphoreus. When I do, I would like these dresses amongst my wardrobe. In the meantime, please keep them in the boxes.”

She nodded her head, and quickly went ahead with the task to get it out of the way. Not only would you thank Mydei in person, you’d have to apologize for the way you spoke to him.

series material list | part two, coming soon . . .

this is a miniseries, estimated to be three parts in total. if you are interested in being tagged, please comment or send an ask, and make sure i am able to tag you.

you rolled your eyes in bemusement, "and you have? what happened to not involving yourself with 'pitiful, mongering barbarian?""

"your marriage has been decided," he stated sternly. he set his utensils with force enough to rattle the entire table as he raised his head like he always did when someone challenged his authority as a duke. "you are to be wed to vice-captain lohen." a tired sigh escaped him, a gloved hand pinched between his brows as he heard you stand from your seat and dash out the dining room. "arranged marriages aren't all so bad, [name]!"

"not all bad, you say?!" you shouted from across the corridor. "take a look at your relationship with mother before you say that!"

your family arrived in mondstadt at dawn. the trip to dorman port was as you expected—humid, and all too bright in comparison to the snow of snezhnaya. the people smiled often, too, you noticed. well, you supposed this was the land of freedom after all. you're quite tempted to see where the winds would take you when all you've grown up with are the blizzards and snowstorms that knock at your windows like an incessant friend who can't take no for an answer.

still, despite your curiosity about what the wild berries in the bushes would taste like, you willed your feet to stay rooted at the docks. your father greeted everyone as usual; your mother hid half her face in disdain behind her fan. like you, she had a lot to say about the weather, but you doubt she'd sugarcoat any unpleasant comments she had. people have told you that you took after her the most — too straightforward, too quippy, too wild to be a duke's heir.

"and you must be the duke's heir," a voice commented. you snapped your head up to the noise and realized, in mortification, that you had to crane your neck to even meet his eyes. you grip the silk of your apparel in alarm. "i'm varka. knight of boreas, grandmaster of the knight of favonious!"

the grandmaster pressed a closed fist to his chest, a grin plastered on his face as he bowed his head. "from now on, you will be in our care. if you encounter any problems, please don't hesitate to inform me. or lohen."

lohen.

you wondered what he's like.

as varka stood back to his full height, he offered you a hand to guide you to the horse you'll be riding to the city. "the roads are treacherous here, your grace. using a carriage will only lengthen the time to get to the city." he had explained earlier when your mother had complained at the lack of proper transportation. you sighed in dismay when she threw another hissy fit, your father right behind her as he guided her onto the horse, gathering the many layers of her gown. he was probably chastising her for not heeding his warnings. you turned around and let varka lift you to the saddle (and when i say lift, i mean lift. the man even had the audacity to laugh and ask if you were eating properly.)

you tuned out the rest of mother's tantrum in favor of soaking in the sights of your new home. it was… starkly different. you could actually see the path, albeit it was… unrecognizable; wild flowers bloomed from the soil, and small critters would gather atop rock formations to tilt their heads at you. when you thought no one was looking, you gave them a small wave. a smile bloomed on your face when the small squirrel jumped in delight before scurrying away with its friend.

"you're quite the charmer, your highness." you turned to your left and watched as varka reign his horse slow it's pace and match yours. his sky-lit eyes eventually fell on the mount you had been riding, a low whistle escaping his lips. "that horse you're riding is infamous for throwing off any rider that touches his saddle."

you feel your anxiety spike, quickly looked down to your horse before you calmed down. "you should've said that earlier, grandmaster…"

he laughed, hearty and whole. like the feeling of joy existed in the air that wafted in the surroundings and encompassed the space of his lungs. "ha, ha, ha! i heard rumors about you being blessed by mother nature herself, your highness! ah, forgive me. i know i shouldn't indulge in such rumors but the moment you had stepped off that boat, i had a feeling you were special."

you blinked up at him (cursing the very obvious gap in your heights in your mind) and couldn't stop yourself from asking, "why is vice-captain lohen here?"

there's a shift in the air. subtle, almost as if it never happened to begin with. but you saw it. the way varka's eyes widened for just a fraction, how they looked at anything but you, and how he changed the subject faster than any warning of an avalanche you've heard.

the trip to the main gates was spent in silence after that. you didn't dare to ask the question again, or even bring up your fiancé's name. afraid of the suffocation the knights would have to endure as the words fell from your lips.

lohen. you trialed in your mind. it was short enough to remember, but unique in a way you've only ever heard it once. lohen. you looked up to the sky, the day had barely passed despite it feeling like you've travelled through half of teyvat already. when the sun peeked around it's shield of clouds, you wondered where your fiancé was.

mondstadt was welcoming. welcoming enough for your father — all up-tight, and no funny business — to indulge in a few rounds of beer in a quaint bar in a corner. "it's angel's share," you're mother informed, already half-way through her glass of champagne when she found you in a dark corner on the second floor. "owned by the most sought after bachelor in mondstadt — diluc ragnvindr."

"if he's so sought after, why wasn't he a candidate?" you asked, swirling the apple cider in your glass.

"naive child, i've told you numerous times already. he could have been, if you hadn't burned his letter in the fireplace like a fool."

ah, now you remembered. you were high on emotions that night and the thought of leaving home with a man you didn't know sent you into a spiralling tantrum that ended with you burning the stacks of marriage proposals on your father's desk. you distinctively remembered a burgundy envelope and an owl seal amongst them.

you took a careful peek at your mother who had dropped herself on the seat in front of you, much to your disdain. when she clicked her tongue, you took it as your cue to let your gaze fall like it always had in her presence.

"because of your foolish mistake, you're stuck with this half-witted, war-mongering vice-captain."

"'warn mongering'?" you asked.

she rolled her eyes at you, drinking the remaining champagne and slammed the delicate glass in front of you. "the boy is a monster, [name]." she said, "that lohen is unbecoming. i can't wrap my mind around how he, of all people was accepted into the knights."

the way she said lohen's name — as if the very letters seared her tongue and offended her existence — made something churn in your stomach. you didn't know him, you reminded yourself, there's no point in defending him. in fact, with varka's prior reaction to you questioning his whereabouts, you're left with little but too much all the same; lohen was someone distasteful to be around.

"are you even listening to me, [name]?!" your mother rattled, "listen to me, dear archons above what have i done to deserve such a disobedient child—"

you stood from your seat, the legs of your chair dragging across the floors before it dropped with a painfully loud thud. chatter paused, songs finished abruptly, and you simply smiled. "i'm tired, i'll be retiring for the day." you excused yourself from the others, bolting to the stairs, only to be stopped when the grandmaster weaved himself between you and the exit.

"now, your highness, you can't leave yet!" he said, one hand still holding a wooden mug of beer.

you raised a brow at him, your patience growing thin when he continues to block your path regardless of what step you took. "grandmaster," you warned. "please, step aside."

but he only shook his head, a finger scratched his chin while his eyes darted across the many faces in the bar. "y-you can't!"

"and why not?"

"because… um… you see, we were, um…"

while he was busy thinking fo an excuse, you sent out a silent prayer to the tsaritsa that barbatos doesn't smite you for landing a blow on one of his knights (though calling it a blow would be an exaggeration when the grandmaster was double, if not triple your body mass). at best, you had landed a strong enough blow to his side to tickle, tickle, him to drop his guard and wheeze out of your way.

finally! you thought. you were almost free from this stuffy, beer-stinking room!

but as you opened the door, a force from the other side pulled it forward, taking you along with it. everyone gasped, and you shut your eyes to brace for the impact, already imagining the scolding you were about to receive if even a single scratch were to grace your face. but it never came.

instead, heavy and dirtied hands caught you by the forearms as your face planted into someone's uniform stained with blood. you stayed there for a moment longer than what would be considered necessary.

"well, ain't this a lovely first meeting, your highness!"

you felt the blood drain from your face as you realized who you had just fallen into. with a heavy sigh and grumbled curses, you lift your head enough to catch a glimpse of a face that did not match the tone of his voice. his eyes were something straight out of a fairytale, but it's not what you'd describe as "princely" or even a "knight" — they had no light, like never-ending, encompassing pool of carmine that bleeds into the sky.

your mother was right, lohen was a monster.

"what? do i have something on my face?" he asked, and you're mortified to realize that you had been caught staring right into a rabbit hole of his gaze. the pads of his gloves dragged from your forearms down to cup your palms — gentle, sure. you think you can feel the callouses from how he uses his weapons, and yet… "you okay there? i'm starting to think i'm not the only delusional one here." he joked with a chuckle under his breath.

"excuse me?"

"just a joke! no need to be offended, your highness," he assured you, but it did little to quell the somersaults that your stomach continued to perform. his skin was pale, maybe as pale as the snow back at home, and there's a single guiding star beneath the right of his eye. his mouth moved, and you thought what he said was funny when the other patrons laughed. but you didn't hear it. not when your hand, the one your father swore would never know the feeling of blood, dragged a thumb over the bleeding scratch that etched his cheekbone down to the side of his chin.

"what a wound. it must be painful," you muttered before a familiar condensation of dendro energy pooled at where the blood continued to stain his cheeks. "hold still," you asked, and against everyone's expectations, lohen did as you asked. he stood still, very still. when half of the wound had closed, you began to wonder if he was even breathing.

when his cheek was fully healed, only then did you finally breathe out a sigh of relief. noticing how the room had gone quiet, you became acutely aware how little distance was left between you and the vice-captain. with reddening cheeks, you let out a cough into your first, and stepped back. the warmth of his hold left a scalding trail on your skin that raised the hairs yet left you wanting for more, all the same.

lohen stumbled back, too. a hand clumsily tugging at the collar of his uniform, before both hands dusted down his shirt, cursing when he realized blood had managed to stain the spot you had planted your face in. when your eyes met again, you noticed the obvious flustering of his cheeks. it contrasted nicely against his pale, snow-stricken complexion. and it made the blush that crept up his ears all the more obvious.

your staring context was broken when you hear a snort from behind you. your head whipped to see the culprit, only to find varka ducking his head down just as you glared at him. he waved a hand in apology, setting his cup of beer down the counter, and going past you just to stand besides lohen.

"your highness, allow me to introduce to you the vice-captain of the knight's fifth company." a heavy hand was placed on his shoulders, and your eyes met again. this time, he didn't look away, nor did you think he cared much for the obvious red on his cheeks. "lohen, this is their highness, [name]. proud heir to snezhnaya's dukedom, who also happens to be your fiancé."

lohen rolled his eyes, shrugged off varka's hand on his shoulder before reaching for something behind him. "can you tell me something i don't know, grandmaster? i do more than just fighting, you know."

"that's rather hard to believe, but sure! whatever you say!"

annoyed by his superior, lohen swiftly delivered an undamaging kick to the grandmaster's shin. the latter only laughed at his attempt, before shoving him forward, nearly sending you both toppling over if you had not caught him by the shoulders as he did with you.

"stupid grandmaster, i don't need your help," he grumbled under his breath.

you tilted your head curiously, slotting you perfectly in his visage that he stumbles over the next few words. "help with what?"

you heard the other knights holler and whistle, the grandmaster behind him laughed even harder as he passed you both, taking up his previous station by the bar and watching with amused eyes. "the same reason why he wasn't there to greet you when you arrived, your highness!" varka explained. "come on lohen, don't get all shy on us now! you we're all fire and spirit when you proposed the idea, where's that spirit gone?"

"drowned by your noise if you don't shut the hell up!" lohen shouted amidst the sea of laughter and cheering. "damned nosy assholes. who even said you were in on the plan in the first place?!"

"i'm… a little lost."

as he finally remembered who he was in proximity with, the blush on his face worsened, and the cheering grew louder. he slipped from your hold, taking a deep breath and continuing his grumbling, throwing a glare at the head that belonged to the grandmaster as he finally fixed his posture.

couhing into his fist, lohen did one final lookover his appearance — fixing the collar of his shirt, dusting down his cape, and brushing the bangs over his eyes. he took one step, then another, until he was only an arm's length away and you had to stop the squeek that nearly slipped from your throat when he took your hand in his, while the hand behind his back revealed a bouquet of local flowers in mondstadt.

"i apologize, for not greeting you first. i know it's not exactly very "knightly" of me," lohen paused, his thumb rubbing mindless circles on your knuckles as his gaze flickered from your face to the flowers in his hold. "and appearing all battered and with a wound on my face is… unbecoming. but i promise, it was for a good cause. that being this." he motioned for you to take the bouquet. when you gingerly accepted them in your hands, he straightened his back again. "welcome to mondstadt, my fiancée. i hope you'll like it here."

"'welcome to mondstadt, my fiance.' now where, pray tell, did you learn to smooth-talk like that, lohen?"

the vice-captain only rolled his eyes. he continued wiping down his spear in jean's office (why it had to be here, lohen didn't know. and fankly, he was too tired to know.). "it was a formal welcome. since all you wanted to act like a stick had stuck up your ass, i decided to be… more me."

"more you, as in revealing your year-long crush on the duke's heir?"

"when have i said that?!"

albedo and kaeya shrugged, but the all-knowing and teasing smiles on their faces had lohen's heart hammering in his chest. when lisa chuckled and closed her book, only then did he realize that he had abruptly stood from his seat, his polearm lay forgotten on the floor along with the cloth he was using to clean it.

"now, now, don't tease him you two. it must have been hard to gather all those flowers in starsnatch cliff with the activity of the abyss."

"thank you—"

"and confessing isn't exactly an easy thing to prepare for! the fact he even showed up is a miracle in and of itself."

"lisa?!"

"enough, you three."

when jean arrived, only then could lohen relax and sit back down on his seat. he picked up his polearm and glared at kaeya when the man snickered at him.

"now that we're all here, we will be discussing the appropriate accomodations to the duke and his family," jean's eyes landed on lohen first. "thankfully, master diluc had agreed to house them for a while until we finish the deal with northland bank." then, she nodded towards lisa and albedo's direction, "the duke's only request is that their highness's studies in alchemy to be continued, so i'll be trusting you both in that regard."

"thank you for trusting us, dear jean."

"yes, we'll do our utmost best."

jean smiled, shoulders finally relaxing, "that leaves kaeya and me with managing their transportation when the duke and duchess return. now lohen," the vice-captain stiffened. a shiver ran down his spine when he met jean's eyes and watched in horror as even her lips tugged into a teasing smile. "it'll be your job to assist them in any and every field. you are their hand-picked knight, ensure that they remain safe until the weeding."

"it offends me that you think i can't even do something as simple as that," lohen complained.

"ah, ah. i'm not finished.

"huh?"

jean smiled, in fact, everyone in the room smiled. and lohen felt cold, ice water was dumped over his head when the next words followed.

"as their fiancé, be sure to woo them now and then. it took a lot of effort from master diluc to get your name on their candidate's list after all."

"how the hell do you know about that?!"

    It's presence isn't odd, exactly, but it's purposeful arrangement is what really gives you pause. It isn't wilted and half-torn, like the flowers that fly from Jueyun Karst and over to the high stories of the Inn, the ones you have to sweep away each week.

    It's perfect, recently plucked if you had to guess, and if you lean in close, you can see the pollen dusting its insides, its scent surrounding you with a hazy giddiness.

    You smile, taking it as a sign of good luck. Your eyes keep falling to it as you prepare for the day, and just as you leave to start up on your chores, you grab onto it to put behind your ear.

---------------------------

    "You're late."

   Xiao's voice is a familiar comfort, softened over the years until it became a soothing breeze after your long day of work. Before, you'd have thought him too intimidating to approach, but now you can parse for the meaning behind his words, as easy as breathing.

    "I know, I know, no respect for the high and mighty yaksha-" Your voice is light and airy, his presence alone melting away your troubles, making your heart glow. You put the plate of almond tofu near the railing, two spoons in hand, and smile- "and I missed you too, Xiao."

    "Punctuality is a common trait among mortals and immortals alike, you're just particularly careless."

  His words fall apart as soon as he turns his back around, eyes shooting up to the qingxin you'd settled into your hair.

   (It's unusual you 'doll yourself up', as Xi would put it. Your work and life are here in the Inn, and everyone here has likely already seen you at your worst or is unlikely to meet you again, so you don't see the point. Your outfit is always plain, hairdo always the same, routine never changing, but...you don't mind. There's safety in monotonicity.)

    You wonder if he thinks it doesn't suit you, and your heart clenches irrationally behind your rib-cage.

    "What?" The silence is deafening to your heating ears, so your murmur carries itself awkwardly across the air, self consciousness creeping up your spine, "I just thought it'd look nice."

    "It's....it's nothing." Xiao replies, though his face tells otherwise. He has that look, brows furrowed and eyes focused, that means he's trying to connect the dots of mortal customs, trying to filter through your differences so he can understand you.

    His hand reaches out to you, fingers brushing against your jaw, tucking the flower back into your hair from where it'd nearly slipped off.

    You shiver, feeling your skin tingle where his hand has yet to move away. He seems lost in the moment, his smile small, fond, "It does look nice on you."

---------------------------

    Another flower, this time silk, this time three of them, wrapped together neatly with one of their stems.

    You braid them into your hair until they wilt, and catch Xiao's soft gaze following them throughout your talks.

---------------------------

    A leaf that resembles a heart, hidden beneath a conch shell who's colors swirl in rare patterns across it's glided surface.

   Both of them go up on your shelf, the first splash of color your room has seen in years.

--------------------------- 

    A crystal-fly, core carefully extracted, its translucent wings making the sunlight glitter in blue hues across your face when you hold it up.

    You stitch it onto your lamp shade, creating a calming night-light that keeps you still throughout the night.

---------------------------

"Do you....do you think we have a-" You gesture to Verr Goldett over breakfast, your voice going conspiratorialy low, making sure the other residents don't overhear- "a pest problem?"

    The way her eyes widen makes you feel a little guilty for bringing it up, but you can't think up any other explanation, "What? Why do you say that?"

    "Something's been leaving things at my window." You reply, humming out a 'thank you' as Yanxiao brings along a basket of fresh-baked goods, the scent warm and making your mouth water. You think the crowd is loud enough to drown out your conversation, but you still remain vigilant- you know how they're a nosy bunch.

    "Flowers and stones and such, but I'm worried it'll move onto dead rats soon." Your chuckle is nervous (it's your job to take care of what Verr and Huai'an leave behind, after all, so this is a failure on your part) and Verr can certainly tell, so you try to hide your face behind your loaf of bread. "Not- not that I mind the gifts, but I'm not sure the other visitors would find it quite as endearing."

    When you finish your bite and glance back to Verr Goldett, she doesn't look as worried as you'd expected. No, instead she eyes you with amusement dancing behind her smile, like she knows something you don't. "Well, I haven't heard anyone besides you complain so far."

    "My room is right by that big sandbearer tree- maybe it can't reach anyone else yet." Your frantic whispering is attracting a few looks, now, so you turn your head and wave, willing the attention away by handing out extra utensils, "What if it sneaks in while I'm working?"

    "I doubt we'd have trouble dealing with it. If its not currently troubling customers or hurting business, then I wouldn't spend so much time worrying." She waves off your concerns with a flourish of her hand, stacking plates atop each other with a 'clink' that signals you to take them to the kitchen. You flounder for something to say.

    "Yes, but-"

    "Besides, maybe it's targeting you for a reason. Maybe the gifts are meant for you."

---------------------------

  A cor lapis crystal- it's a small shard, admittedly, but it shines bright and warm beneath the heat of the sun all the same.

    It'd make for fine jewelry, but you keep it in your drawer in the fear a passing miner had dropped it by accident.

---------------------------

    It'd taken you a minute to figure out what this one was- a necklace, made of twine and rope, with a small amulet hanging off. You thumb at the charm, a bad feeling rising up in your throat- had something stolen this? Did one of the residents lose it?

    You frown, and decide to hold onto it for safe-keeping. It didn't look expensive- wouldn't be missed, you think, and if anyone came asking for it, you'd hand it right over.

    You didn't count on growing attached to it's reassuring presence against your neck, but no one came looking for it, anyways.

---------------------------

    It all boils over when you awake one day to a bracelet on the railing of your window.

    It's gold, inlaid with more gems and jewels than you'd seen on a single piece of jewelery, and you're fairly certain the crystal marrow isn't native to Liyue. There's engravings across it's embolished surface, whirlpools you trace over with your fingertips till your mind grows dizzy.

    Wangshu Inn is a refugee for travelling adventurers, visitors from Mondstadt, students studying abroad at the academy, but mostly it's a house for merchants to set up shop, selling goods and treasures to all three.

    You've helped some of them sell their fares, listened in on their gossip and trade secrets. You know how expensive this is, how they'd fight tooth and nail to get their hands on it, knowing it's worth an auction- especially with how fine the craftsmanship is as well, its surface smooth and free of fingerprints, edges rounded and crevices well varnished.

    You clasp it around your wrist, marvelling at how it fits perfectly, snugly tight to your skin. The gems are a mix of your favorite colors, the patterns reminiscent of those mindless doodles you'd scrawl on paper when you're bored.

    You can't keep it, you know that, but just for a moment, you pretend you're someone worth gifting it to.

---------------------------

    "Our problem has upgraded from pest to thief."

    "Oh, this again." Verr sighs from behind her desk, cheek smushed against her palm. It'd been a slow day, most merchants packing up to the main city in preparation for the Lantern Rite. Of course, that meant more work for the Qixing, but less for the few of you kept around to keep the ruse of the inn running. "Why can't you simply accept that good things can happen to you, too?"

    "I'm serious!" Your voice is shrill with alarm. You can feel the heavy weight of the jewelery burning against your skin from where you'd stuffed it into your pockets, and you're afraid someone will accuse you of stealing. Your voice lowers, barely audible, "It left a bracelet, and it looks expensive- like, something that belongs in the jade chamber expensive. What can even carry something that heavy all the way up here? A- a bird or something?"

    "Birds are known for gathering trinkets to please their loved ones, you know. It means they see you as family."

    You gape at Verr's teasing tone, waving your hands to bring her attention back to you. "Not the point! It definitely took this from someone. They could sue us for it."

    You're not sure what else you could say to get Verr to look concerned. You're about to suggest leaving signs out-front, or personally asking anyone who'd ever visited the inn, or something equally as ridiculous, when you both hear that distinct 'woosh' of anemo energy from the upper balcony.

   "You're gonna be late again, best get to it." Her grin widens, "you know he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

    You glare at her even as you scramble for the plate of almond tofu Yanxiao had prepared in advance. "Boss-"

    "Go! Shoo!"

---------------------------

    Xiao doesn't comment on your tardiness this time as you set the plate down. At first you think it's because he can sense your trepidation in the tense of your shoulders and the clench of your jaw, but as you look up at him, you realise that's...not the case.

    His gaze is laser-focused on the space just beneath your sleeve, pupils narrowed like slits. You nearly jump, fingers rushing to slap whatever bug had been crawling up your arm away, but you find nothing on your skin. Just your bare wrist, the same it always is.

    "Is something wrong?" You ask, face scrunched with confusion, and it snaps Xiao out of his reverie. He shakes his head, almost as if to shake his thoughts away, but you pin him with a look that tells him to speak his mind, no matter how miniscule he thinks it to be.

    "You're not wearing the bracelet. Did you...not like the colors?" It takes you a moment to process his words, mind buzzing when his hands grab onto your arm, gentle, always so gentle, tracing the spot where the bracelet would sit atop your skin, "I fastened it to your size, but if it's too tight, I could heat it until its expanded enough to be comfortable."

    "What bracelet?" is all you manage to blurt out, trying to catch up a few seconds too late. Xiao eyes you with a flat look like you're particularly stupid, and you're starting to think you really are.

    "The golden bangle I made you. I left it on the ledge of your window just before sunrise." Your eyes go wide, realisations flashing through your mind too fast to react to, but you still catch onto the tightness in his next words, firmness masking bashfulness, "Don't tell me you lost it?"

    "No! No, no, I have it right here- who do you take me for?-" Xiao's hands let go of your arm when you dig into the pouch hidden beneath your blouse, feeling around until you find it's cool metal touch and fish it out. You feel as though you're seeing it anew, heart fluttering as you imagine the countless hours he must've spent to have it tailor-made for your tastes. For you.

    All those little gifts, beautiful things you'd thought unfit for someone who doesn't shine, were for you.

Your gaze falls to Xiao's arm, an avian form with feathered wings drawn across his skin in green.

    'Birds are known for gathering trinkets to please their loved ones, you know'

    "It's not far-fetched to think you'd misplace adepti amulets, let alone one this bright and easy to spot," Xiao huffs out a chuckle, the wonder in your eyes reassuring, taking the bracelet from your open grasp, "perhaps I should've tied it to your wrist myself to make sure you knew its purpose."

    His hands, ferocious and merciless with his spear, slip the bracelet onto you with far more patience and devotion than you deserve. He hooks the buckle tight, thumbs at the space where the metal meets your skin to make sure it's not hurting you, not causing you any discomfort. He hums in approval, voice tinged with shyness, "It suits you."

    'It means they see you as family.'

    Your heart feels full enough to burst.

    You don't kiss Xiao often- it overwhelms him, sometimes, when he's only getting accustomed to the casual linking of your hands, your body fitting against his in a hug- but you can't think of another way to show your gratitude, and you need him to know how much you love him, and you just really want to kiss him.

    You're gentle- just as he was with you- giving him enough time and room to pull away if he pleases. The press of your lips against his own is soft and chaste, his mouth moving against yours in small increments, breath melding within the space between you. His hand keeps rubbing over the gold in thoughtless motions, moon-light glimmering off the jewels like scattered stars.

---------------------------

    (You couldn't really hide what you'd initially thought of the 'gifts' from Xiao from very long, his piercing gaze and lifted brow always sending the words tumbling straight out of you and into his waiting arms.

    The scolding you got (though hindered by his barely muffled laughter) was humiliating, and stuffing your face behind your hands wasn't nearly enough to hide your embarrassment when he refered to himself as a 'pest' the following morning.

   The first note had been a joke- and you'd thought he had no sense of humour- a 'from xiao.' written in his neat handwriting next to the flower, but it'd snowballed from there, little comments to let you know you're on his mind, ones you hold close to your heart. You can't imagine not waking to them now.

   'I caught you more crystal-flies. They'd look nice in your hair alongside the flowers.'

    'I don't have much of an eye for color, but I thought violetgrass would suit your new clothes, so I got you some.'

    'More starconches for your collection. I've tried listening to their tunes, but none have made a sound so far.'

    'I imbued some energy into this talisman. It will keep you safe during your supply run.'

“Or perhaps that’s too soon…” She trails off and looks deeply into your palm once more, humming to herself. “Yes, far too soon…”

“I don’t understand.” And you’re sure the hint of crossness seeps its way into your tone- if not, then your expression. This was your third and final year at Mount Inferno, and your friends had finally convinced you to pay a visit to the famous fortune teller—you’d put it off long enough, tomorrow you’d be graduating.

Tomorrow, you’d be leaving this mountain - and everyone you met atop it.

 A long-extinct volcano, though life still bubbled at its peak. 

Columns of paper. Red headbands. The sound and trundle of mastery in pursuit. The best of the best; from all nations far and wide, every tribe, every village, students are summoned to the Fire Nation to study at the ancient Mount Inferno. For three years until adulthood. The school was scattered across the Inferno volcano range, deep amongst curdling springs and prickly growth, the pride of the Fire Nation, with its courtyard situated on the very highest peak. It was a truce between nations- and more than that, an intermingling of the future’s most famed. Some students have gained reputations for their powers before even starting here, and it had been somewhat jarring to see all these big, big names come to real life before you. 

There was the Waterbending child prodigy that turned water into ambrosia - Ieri Shoko. There was the heir to the Earthbending Zenin family, nobles recently handpicked as ambassadors for the Fire Nation royals, pompous yet powerful (you and Shoko dunked him into one of the cold springs on your first day). Even more, there was Masamichi Yaga, the renowned Earthbending master, as your teacher. 

And most of all, there was Geto Suguru: prince of the Fire Nation. 

Or at least, he was in blood.

Though in name…it was murmured and known across every tribe that there was bad blood between the Fire Lord and the prince. He was the sole heir. He was their hope. He was their future- and yet, the first cracks in the picture-perfect royal family were shown when Geto had been sent to Mount Inferno. 

Normally, imperial members were honed to become the deadliest of weapons in the confines of their palaces. Private tutors, techniques, and rigorous training hours you couldn’t even imagine.

No one knew the exact reason, but the message was clear enough.

You yourself had gotten your invitation (more like summons) to Mount Inferno the day after.

Your parents had yelped in joy and told the village elders; the first student in a hundred years to be called from the most revered of the Fire Nation from your little tribe, they celebrated for seven days and nights. 

And on Mount Inferno is where you met Geto Suguru. 

In your first year. Walking along Mount Inferno; head held high and his air untouchable even in punishment. Students - from first-years to third-years - looked but didn’t speak. Hair down to his shoulders, tied. Robes lined with golden. Equally as golden shoes stepped down the gravelly pathway in a painfully trained staccato, and they were just about to pass you like the rest of them before—

A droplet of water leapt out and splashed Prince Geto’s golden shoes.

You and Shoko had just dunked Naoya’s head into the cold springs anew- thrice for talking garbage about women in the first place, once more for each time he refused to apologize. 

You wouldn’t kill the idiot, of course- you’d just teach him a lesson. At fifteen he should know better. 

And this was about the twenty-third time and your arm had grown tired from holding down the stupid aristocrat—but you weren’t going to give up on making him eat his words any time soon, alright? Especially not now. Especially not after all he’d said. It didn’t matter if you had to miss orientation and stay here until Yaga had to drag you away- you’d only go kicking and screaming.

And perhaps ‘accidentally’ throwing a first at the damn Zenin brat who-

“Whaddaya staring at?” So, needless to say, you weren’t the happiest of benders when you caught stopping and staring at you less than a foot away. 

The spring was on one side of the path leading to the courtyard, and any student walking could easily have avoided it altogether - most did. Most flickered their eyes to the commotion and flickered them away even faster, either not wishing to get involved or not wishing to help Naoya of all people. You see, he’d already made an impression.

One that’d left you slightly more than just cranky- “You wanna be next or what?” You glowered at the long-haired boy. You wouldn’t be expelled just for this- you and Shoko doubted anyone would speak on behalf of the Zenin tyrant anyways. Besides, this was before your first lesson, and if you two weren’t recognized as students yet—then there was technically no expulsion to be done, right? 

But to your surprise, Shoko reached across Naoya’s bent-over body to elbow you. “Oi- shut your mouth if you wanna keep it.”

Narrowing your eyes suspiciously at her, “Why?” You’d just met the girl today, but you had an inkling you’d be good friends. 

“Don’t you know who that is-”

“Should I?”

She looked at you with widened, disbelieving brown eyes. And it seemed as though she was about to continue- 

But before that, the boy casually cocked his head to the side. His deep, charcoal-black hair framed his aristocratic face in a way that looked like a picture. “You’re both Waterbenders, correct?”

You and Shoko shared a look. “Yes…?” She answered. Both Waterbenders; though from different tribes - Shoko was of more nomadic origins, the village of water healers. Whilst yours was a quieter, more diminutive tribe of fishermen and marine waterbenders—you grew up with honed steel and the scent of blood. If you cut yourself, then the strongest healer was several villages away. 

The elite-ling before you surely grew up with padded cushions and perfume to make your eyes roll. That irritation weighed down your brows, “What’s it to you?”

His eyes flitted between the two of you, before ultimately resting on you. And to your surprise, he smiled- smiled.

Long and feline.

Ear to gauged ear.

That was the first time Geto Suguru ever smiled at you. Had you known that at some point in your future, those smiles would grow so rare and ravishing, then you would have counted your blessings more scrupulously. 

But back then, you’d merely blinked.

And he’d been feeling a tendril of black hair between his fingers, scrutinizing, before he threw it over his shoulder. “Oh, nothing.” He began to walk off without even a single glance backward, “Seeing as you two are Waterbenders, I was just hoping you two didn’t know that my friend Naoya here has a certain…aversion for sharks. That’s all.”

You and Shoko looked at each other once more.

And it would have sounded like yet another goad- it would have. But you and Shoko looked at each other with a whole new understanding—huh…is that so? And whilst she held Naoya down, you reached your dominant hand out and concentrated on the spring water with all your might. The ripples of it. The drowning texture. Power coursed through you, aqueous, and in the absence of its shape- you bent the water into the shape of a gaping shark underneath. 

And made it dart straight for Naoya dunked underneath. 

Bubbles erupted furiously on the surface of the water as he screamed and thrashed- yet you and Shoko only held him down harder. Held him down until the dagger-like teeth of the ‘shark’ were but mere centimeters from his face—

Then - and only then - do you pull him out by his close-cropped brown hair. 

The pinkish face of the Zenin heir gasped for air, and through blubbers, through tears, through swears, he somehow managed out. “I-I’m sorry—!” He clenched his eyes shut, “Fuck- I’m sorry, I won’t say women should walk three steps behind…” 

Your fingers dug into his collar even tighter.

“I mean-” He quickly rectified, pathetically shaking both the water and the thought out of his head. Like this, you couldn’t help but snort at him. “I won’t say…such things ever again-” His beady eyes slid to the side and narrowed at you, “Just- please- let me go—”

“Sure.” You eyed him just as wickedly, “If you admit it now that women and other folk can be just as powerful benders as men?” In support, the water gurgled and whirled into a conspicuously-shaped jaw. A shark.

Naoya sputtered, “Y-yes—yes. Women and- o-others can be just as powerful benders as men.” Thrashing even harder, “Please let me go—!”

“Sure thing.” You glanced at Shoko. And at the same time, you both unhanded Naoya’s twisted-up arms and let him fall face-first into the spring with a deafening splash! Cheekily, the water shaped at your whim into the open maw of a shark just as he plummeted. Hungry. 

And it was all Naoya could do to let out a high-pitched squeal as he fell into the sharp-toothed, watery abyss. He crash-landed into the spring once more and scrambled to his feet, pushing past other students as he scurried in the opposite direction. 

You and Shoko hooted at him the entire way down, only stopping once you lifted your head and caught—

Just a glimpse of amethyst eyes.

Before he turned back around, long hair swaying from side-to-side as he made his way up those steep stone steps. The number of students still making their way up were diminishing, and the first bell was likely to ring soon- but you stood there frozen in your red and black Mount Inferno robes, a blue gem fastened to your belt. Looking after a boy with a red gem attached to his own. “Shoko…who was that?”

“You seriously didn’t know?” She picked her satchel up from where it’d been discarded by some shrubbery on the pathway, and looked at you closely. “That’s the crown prince, Geto Suguru.”

The myth. The prodigy. The disgrace. 

“The Geto Suguru?” You asked. 

She nodded seriously.

How odd it was that a boy that elicited such a reaction would be the only one to save you two seats for the courtyard orientation. How odd it was that he’d whisper little facts to you about the lost Airbender at your first lesson.

How odd it was that Geto Suguru, the punished fire prince, became your best friend. 

He was attached to you by the hip, practically.

He was part of you enough.

Goading you into training long nights at the dojos, throwing spirals of water and fire shooting off cliffsides and seeing who could send them the farthest, helping you discover new springs on Mount Inferno (then promptly pushing you into them), whispering schemes to dunk Naoya or another one of his misogynistic reverse-harem again. For teachers, there was a higher chance of finding you both as a unit - and a trio with Shoko - than finding either one separated. 

Which also meant that punishments for breaking one of the Fire Nation’s 80,000 rules was also handed out as a collective. 

You win some, you lose some. 

Though he’d been off at some meeting or the other with bending master Yaga when Shoko - your other best friend - convinced you to make a dash for it- just a last hurrah. Down the volcano to fortune teller Tsukumo, in and out, before anyone ever notices that you broke curfew. After graduation tomorrow you might never see her again—this was your last chance. 

Though she was a Waterbender, Lady Tsukumo was known to be nomadic. 

And with Shoko’s urgency buzzing in your ears, and the never-ending uncertainty of what life held after graduation nagging at you- you made the descent. 

Which is where you found yourself being heartily laughed at by the blond-haired bender, her head thrown back and her candles flickering - it made it seem as though even the shadows were having a guffaw at your expense. 

“Don’t understand?” She asks, what seems like much later. She wipes away a mirthful tear at the corner of her eyes and looks at you in bewilderment, “Don’t understand—? Oh, of course, you don’t understand- tied for first place in scores with the prince, and yet you don’t understand, hm?”

You gape, “How did you-”

“A teller always knows.” The older woman winks, and pulls your palm closer for her to examine. “Tell me now, my dear, what is your type?”

“My- my type—” Sputtering.

“Yes, yes-” Lady Tsukumo tuts impatiently, “Your type. And be specific.”

And even though there was no one here but the two of you- you couldn’t help but cast a sidelong glance around the room. Feeling your heartbeat start to pick up, “I suppose…someone kind. Someone smart- emotionally smart. Someone that loves me for m-”

“Booooooring—!” She announces.

And your jaw just- drops.

What the…

Gaze wide as a mad glint creeps into her eyes. Shoko, you shall never be forgiven. “E-excuse me-”

“You’re excused.” Lady Tsukumo - you wondered whether she had given the title to herself - waves a hand breezily your way. She continues looking down at your upward-facing palm, “Now here’s what I actually see about your type-”

You gulp.

“Tall.”

Alright.

“A powerful bender.”

Well, alright.

“Handsome- no, gorgeous.” She looks most excited at that one—“Long hair. Pretty face. The stuff you write songs about.”

Well, certainly alright…

She turns your palm from side-to-side to capture every angle- then presses two fingers to your wrist and listens to your pulse. Lady Tsukumo’s eyes close. “Hmmm.” She pauses and listens, “And it’s exactly who you have in mind.”

You gasp-

And her eyes sparkle with excitement before—

“I-I didn’t have anyone in mind-”

“Liiiiiiies~!” The blonde-haired woman proudly announces. Before digging her polished nails even deeper into your pulse and seemingly reaping every sweet secret held inside. “I sense tension. I sense confessions long held. I sense agony-” Catching the look in your eyes, “Oh- but the good kind.”

She beams and you narrow your eyes suspiciously at her.

“The good kind- I promise…at least for me to read in here about.” And before you can call her out on it, she presses even harder. “I sense…a wedding here in the Fire Nation.”

And beside yourself, you can feel something at the pit of your stomach lurch. “A w-wedding—?”

She nods, “A royal wedding.” Having successfully put that little hiccup aside, she only grows more excited now. “With public announcements and a national holiday…you’ll wear the traditional Fire Nation garments-” To which you frown, as you’ve always loved the thought of getting married in your own traditional clothes. “-and the feast will be merry and plentiful. And at the end of the night…”

Suddenly, she stops. 

A little furrow forms between her brows.

In silence, Lady Tsukumo runs her hand up and down your forearm as though playing the harp. Counting your pulse. Reading your veins. Almost to your elbow. Pressing harder at your wrist to confirm—

“There will be death.”

The words pierce right through you- you feel faint.

But Lady Tsukumo’s grip on your hand is unyielding. She’s almost breaking through skin with her nails - “Death is lonely here.” By now, her hazel eyes are shot wide open and staring right through you - unseeing - as she continues almost in a daze—“A single life will be lost on your wedding night at your hand. Before Dawn has defeated darkness, darkness shall be defeated within. And red shall stain the floors of a royal suite.”

Those all-seeing eyes of her close.

“In blood as we are borne, two worlds reunite under life and death.”

The candles hush. 

Darkness.

By the time that Lady Tsukumo has waved them back alight again, you still have your hand reached out and your palm facing upwards. Though the tips of your fingers have started reaching inwards - they remind you of the fire lilies that Geto snuck you out to watch blossom your first year. Shoko had been caught cheating by Yaga and made to do revisions whilst you two explored. A valley of them between the furthest peaks of your school: they were the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. And so you’d returned.

Your second year. And then your third year.

Though they were ephemeral - just a few weeks of blossoming per year before they crumpled. 

And with it, something else crumples, too.

Tsukumo Yuki softly intertwines your fingers with hers and squeezes. Then she says in a soft voice, “I’ll tell you a little secret, young Waterbender. Just as you reshape the water, you have the power to shape your own destiny.”

The night is different when you’re finally stepping out.

Crisp and cool; almost to a sharp fault. The door to the fortune teller closes behind you with a click! and you’re standing upon her step- looking up at the moon. 

“I know you’re there, Suguru.”

And from the darkness emerges a playful groan. “How did I pass stealth lessons again?”

You chuckle, “I just know you too well.”

“I’ll say. Shoko told me you came down here so I thought I’d come to escort you.”

Geto Suguru - eighteen just like you - steps into view underneath Lady Tsukumo’s hanging lanterns; admired so ardently by flying termites that flutter around the light in infatuation until their wings fall off mid-flight, and they drop to the floor—crawling around in bafflement as they try to reach their radiant lover once more before they inevitably die. 

Under that same light, you’re taking him in.

It’s been quite some time since you’d splattered spring water over the young prince’s golden shoes- and Geto Suguru has grown considerably since then.

His hair had gotten longer. His smile just a little more feline. The princeling you’d had to look down at to speak had hit a sudden growth spurt once he’d reached about halfway through your first year. First to become lanky. And then his body had given him about two more surges in his second year just for the hell of it, just to leave him amongst the tallest in the grade. 

And it didn’t matter how tall you yourself were- Geto was at least a head taller and it honestly got on your nerves a little that you now had to raise your head to speak with him.

Your best friend.

Your best friend…right?

Third year was when he started filling his frame out more. 

It honestly wasn’t something you thought about until you just-so-happened to notice - and once you did, you just couldn’t seem to stop.

Because Firebender Geto had always been painstaking about keeping his training schedule rigid, keeping his techniques exceptional, never dropping below a cool #1 in Firebending ranks. Never one to fall behind, that was what influenced you to claw up to #1 yourself in Waterbending- and though Shoko wasn’t the type to take things as seriously as the two of you - at least not outwardly - you could tell that she put a certain amount of ‘effortless’ effort into maintaining #2 in Waterbending. But of course, #1 in all healing lessons. 

He was one of the earliest to master Firebending. 

And it was exactly those extra hours of training and duels that left you a honed warrior- and Geto…someone that was hard to keep your eyes off of.

All that height? He was now padding on extra muscle n’ heft to make his frame much more intimidating - like those royal warriors you’d see mentioned in history classes. Corded shoulders. Defined pecs. Chiselled abs. 

Little by little; training sessions with your best friend had begun getting a lot harder when he’d take his helmet off to let his long, river-like black hair cascade down his shoulders. Sticking to his forehead. Pushed out of his thoroughly pretty face. Glistening with sweat—Geto would pant as he tears through the sizzling layers of his armor, bearing more and more skin than you think you could bear-

You once did.

Before everything got so…strange. Whenever Geto would take off his armor - complaining about it being too hot to duel - you’d merely used to throw your helmet at him and do the same. 

But now when he was calling your name, breath ragged, staring at you with half-lidded exhausted eyes…

The one thing that ran through your mind was how his waist was so grabbable-

Before you know it, the real-life Geto Suguru is leaning down and giving your forehead a good flick. And the thing about him is that he doesn’t hold back, either, so you’re left paying for the absence of your own caution. 

Your best friend.

Your best friend.

Your best friend.

Whining as you rub over that spot, “I’m killing you.” The two of you begin heading the treacherous trek up the volcano. “I’m going to finally report you to Yaga for stealing his prized kale cookies- I swear.”

“Sure thing.” He smiles that feline smile, “Just make sure to add that you ate about half of them, too.”

“On second thought, why steal and tell?” 

Geto laughs into the night at that. And you can’t help but turn your head and watch him—so free and unabashed. 

It makes something fuss at the back of your mind- “Hey, Suguru…”

He turns to you, profile illuminated by the pale moonlight. “Yeah?”

“What’d Yaga have to say to you?” You ask—it wasn’t like a teacher to set a meeting so late, and especially right before graduation. Attempting at a joke- “He isn’t failing you or anything, right? It’s nothing serious?”

“As much as I’d love to join you as a super senior—” You snort. You both knew you were making the speech as class first tomorrow. “-no. It wasn’t anything serious.”

Looking to him for more information. 

To which Geto merely looks at you and smiles- he had this little quirk where sometimes his eyes went completely shut as he smiled. And you honestly hadn’t thought of it too much until now. Now…you think it’s the type of thing where one could write a song about it- 

“We just talked about the security measures for when my father arrives.” Geto ultimately sighs, amethyst eyes straight ahead. “Royal visitor and all those tedious things…”

Your lips part, “Ah…” Right. The Fire Lord himself.

“Honestly, I didn’t even think he’d come.” And though he sounds casual about it- you can tell there’s real weight behind Geto’s words. After a few more steps, he turns the questioning onto you. “What about you? What made you decide to go to the fortune teller after all this time?”

You shrug, “Change of pace? Shoko wanted me to do so- ah.”

“Oh yeah? What’d she say?”

And that—that makes you feel so many things at once. So many. 

The excitement. The elation. The heart-stopping moment. The crush. They’re all slamming into you at once- and it’s a complete miracle that you’re able to get out…“Honestly…not much. Guess m’not that predictable, huh?” 

Geto speaks slowly, “Is that so…”

“What about you?” Turning curiously to him, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you going down there?”

He breaths out a silver cloud into the cool night air, “I have once. My first day here.”

And that makes your brows raise- you’ve never known…“What’d she say?” Your heart races, and your palms feel sweaty when they clench—

“Honestly?” Geto leans in close- reeeeeally close. He brings his face towards yours - and there’s a brief moment where his gaze drops down to your lips—you think he’s going to do it. You think he’s going to close the distance. You think he’s going to kiss you. You think he’s going to prove every premonition right and wrong and so right at the same time. “Not much.” Before he’s pulling back his index and flicking your forehead once more.

You summon a nearby spring to fashion into an oversized fan, and chase him with it all the way up to the dorms. 

He laughs the entire way. 

Tomorrow was graduation, but every tomorrow after would still be the same.

Would it not?

.

.

.

You wake with a gasp.

You wake to the drums of war.

The morning awakening. The rhythmic beating of a scorned heart. It punctured and pierced and honed itself against the coarse air of the Fire Nation; the crescendo of your traditional drums, followed by the chanting of your nation’s most valiant benders, and the undercurrent of melee when scimitars met jaw blades. You’d gotten used to the sickening crunch of bones being fitted back into place, though the cries of your people still left your stomach churning. 

Like prey in wait, the world of battle never really slept.

Just last week, the Earthbenders had made the journey from their encampment to yours—and by now the gashing of boulders, the screeching of metal, and the accretion of unique war cries had become accompaniments to such mornings, too.

Rousing.

Dust erupted from the savanna plains and a thin layer of it rained down on you from the gaps in your tent. You’re blinking awake at the flood of pus-yellow light, and raising your head off the table- you’d fallen asleep poring over your war plans yet again. 

You can’t remember the last time you slept in a bed - a bed, let alone a comfortable one. But such things were frivolities at a time like this. Everything could be far, far worse. 

You’re leafing through the yellowed parchments on muscle memory, embossed with the insignia of every Earth and Water tribe in the land. There were many such papers; each one differing in only slight revisions, though with the same contents and proposition addressed to the Fire Lord. Your once-friend.

It’s been nine years since you graduated at the top of Mount Inferno—Geto had been standing right beside you that day as Earthbending master Yaga announced your class as he’d announced you all as the new generation of bending masters. The future. The hope. And you exchanged a look with Shoko and Geto that day, tenderness churning within your chest when it sank in that this would be the last time you’d be standing in this courtyard like this. The last time that Mount Inferno would truly ever be yours.

And so you nodded- you’d planned for this moment for a long time.

As Yaga finished his speech, you kept your hands behind your back and flicked them- just a flick. Enough to summon droplets of clear, glistening water from every surrounding spring. 

They rose high above your heads and half-crystallized in ice—like diamond shards. Shoko hovered her hand and manipulated the water particles in the air to spread them out across the entire courtyard, and Geto lazily waved his hand to increase the temperature. To make the icicles suddenly pop! and rain down - refracting with the daylight to create a brilliant rainbow above you all. 

As the audience awed and gasped then, Geto had stepped - just a single step - closer to you. His shoulders brushed your own, and you remember the tip of his littlest finger grazing yours—barely there. 

Before Geto had caught the eye of his father - tunneling through him with his vicious stare - and the heir had stepped away. 

Your hands had chased his touch, his warmth then.

But you should’ve known- that should’ve been your first sign.

No matter how many times you promised to write and keep in touch with your two best friends; only one of them responded. Letter after letter to the Fire Nation’s Royal Palace - and all of them went unanswered. 

Though, even years later, you were writing.

You hadn’t lost hope- at least, not until your village elder one day asked whether you weren’t invited to the crowning. Whose crowning? Oh, Prince Geto’s crowning as the Prince Regent, of course. His father had become bedridden, and he was overseeing the nation without being formally crowned yet. 

That was how you found out.

Seven days after Geto’s induction as the regent, the Fire Nation attacked.

It was on a group of peaceful air nomads that were already far and few between. Then came the villages. Then came the towns. Ultimately—you remember hearing whispers that Lord Geto was actually the one that poisoned his father in hopes of seizing the crown. The Fire Nation had no King for now, though it did have a monster. 

In just a few years, life as you knew it was set aflame. 

You can’t remember what exactly you’d said in your last letter to him, but you were sure it was some mangled mess of disbelief and threats. You wondered where that old Geto you knew went, you promised you’d make him pay for what he’s done…be it whether you were arrested and charged for treason or not. You never were. 

You went through a mountain of papers trying to write something coherent. 

And when you finally had it arranged to be sent, you joined the rebels. 

Over the course of years, you trained and toughened. You fought your opponents hard and you fought yourself even harder—you knew that Geto Suguru had eyes everywhere across the land. You calloused, you bled, you fell. There was no time to grow gradually used to the ugliness of battle, you were thrust straight into it and forced to grow wiser than your ages. You knew he must know you’ve joined the building uprisings against him.

And you couldn’t disappoint your old classmate, could you?

They granted ascending titles for every one thousand enemy attacks one diverted. At the age of twenty-seven, you were general of the Waterbending faction. 

And the battle was becoming decisive. 

On one side of the tent was a picture of him from your schooling days - eyes crossed out, and pins and daggers stabbed into him whenever you and your war generals mulled over plans. And at your feet lay the half-melted remains of ice blades you’d been training with.

Sometimes, when the nights were really quiet (as quiet as a battle camp could be), you fashioned sharp streams of water and sent them jetting straight at that picture. Just like you and Geto used to in competition, on a cliffside so long ago. 

Only now, there was no laughter. 

As you’re straightening up, a rough canvas blanket falls off your shoulders—Shoko must have entered some time during the night and put this over you. Of course she would.

Always a healer, no matter what. 

You’re holding the fabric close to you for a few seconds before letting go. A general had to carry only what was needed.

Freshening yourself up with the shallow basin of sun-warmed water at the corner of your tent, you’re donning your sea-blue cloak and walking past the tent flaps. Midday Sun licks at your skin as you step outside. 

The Sun in the Fire Nation always seemed hotter than the one in your land, but right now it was the only thing you could feel. You turn your face up to it in greeting and breathe in deeply.

Your brief moment of respite is suddenly shattered by a call of your name - urgent. The sound of an approaching horse. Alarmed; your eyes shoot open and your hand immediately falls to the bone knife fastened to your waist, dropping only once you recognize the approaching men as one of your own—his blue cloak flutters in the wind. 

As he nears, you register his wide eyes and his pallid face.

A cold sweat seemed to coat his features despite it being scorching out. And once he’s close enough, other warriors stop his horse by the reins- and he all but collapses onto the ground. Crawling on all fours to you—before you’re waving away your soldiers and helping the man stand up yourself.

“Ijichi.” You support him up and firmly tap the side of his sallow cheeks, “Ijichi! Get yourself together, soldier. What happened?” 

As a non-bender, Ijichi was still an integral part of your battle. He was your messenger - and your most trusted one, at that. He was the one that’d successfully delivered your last letter to Geto as your friend, and your first letter to him as Lord: the proposition. You knew Geto wouldn’t lay a hand on Ijichi, no matter what the contents of your letters were. 

He knew how just dear your friends were to you- he knew very well.

“He…he…” Ijichi’s pale lips tremble.

Your pulse races. There was only ever one he that could deign such a reaction- “What happened—” Signalling one of the nearby warriors to hand a flask of water over, you wet his mouth with it. Lightly shaking him. “Speak, soldier-”

“H-he has an answer, general.” Ijichi sputters. Hand weakly gesturing towards his satchel-

Your soldiers tear open that brown hide satchel and present you with the sole thing inside—a smooth, strong parchment tied up in a red velvet ribbon. Though it didn’t have the signature embosses and the gaudy golden envelopes that most communication with the palace did, there was no doubt that it was of imperial origins. The only difference was in the way it seemed to be from the hand of the Regent himself, rather than any old elder…

This was straight from Geto.

And you have to be careful not to display the slight quiver at your fingertips as you open it-

‘My dearest best friend,

It has been accepted. 

Yours, Suguru.’

Though the handwriting itself was far different from what you remembered his to be. But people change. 

“What is it, general?” One of the warriors pipes up from the gathering crowd. The Earthbending masters and other commanders have joined, too. 

And you’re looking straight ahead - at no one and everyone in particular - as you just give a single…simple…nod. 

Lord Geto Suguru has accepted your marriage proposal. 

.

.

.

Riiiiiip—!

You’re clenching your jaw and fisting your hands together as a Fire Nation attendant tears out wax strips smeared down your legs, yanking out the hair underneath. She stares in wonderment for a brief moment, before starting to do the same on your hands.

A scream strangles in your throat.

The journey from the camp to the palace hadn’t been too extensive, and you’d arrived to the roar of trumpets and the wariness of the Fire Nation public. The palace announcement itself had been shaky- but they had to open the doors to you.

They had to.

You were their future Queen, after all.

Just perhaps not what they expected. 

Scrubbing and plucking you raw, honey glazes, and milk baths. They’d taken special offense to that little callous between your thumb and index from holding a sword too much.

They’d attempted to scrub it away and failed. 

Who would’ve thought that years of battle meant that other things took priority over a little waxing and powdering? Apparently the poor, pampered asses of ‘war’ generals in the Fire Nation’s Royal Palace couldn’t stand any evidence of the raging battles that took place outside their numerous gilded walls—perhaps guilt or inconvenience? Possibly the latter, you doubted they had a conscience. And thus, you hadn’t made it two steps inside the sprawling palace before you were whisked away by a cloud of attendants. To be made into an imitation of something you weren’t. 

You’d seen the way they looked at you- as if you dirtied the palace with your mere presence. To your surprise, it seems a majority of the council had long since been taken over by the Zenin elders. 

It seems that Zenin Naoya had made a name for himself as the head advisor. 

That fool couldn’t advise a cow to moo. 

You hadn’t even gotten to see Geto yet - and here you were already being prepared for your wedding. 

If it were up to you, you’d forgo all this levity and carry out the plan here and now. You’d barge past all these plumes of dresses and golden antiques, and—

“Now for your perfuming, Your High- ah, I suppose not yet.” The orange-haired girl smiles to herself as she fogs you with some expensive perfume.

You crinkle your nose and expect the worst - some throat-clogging, saturated scent that makes you gag…but what meets you is the soft undercurrent of the ocean, of jasmine, of memories long-gone and hidden. And your eyes are shooting open in surprise.

“It’s good, hm?” She nods excitedly at your reaction. “His Highness had it concocted specially for today.”

“I didn’t take Geto to be the perfumeering type.”

She laughs softly to herself and you look up in curiosity. “Oh- sorry.” Bowing ever-so-slightly—you’re hurrying to tell her that she didn’t need to. “It’s just that…my lady, you refer to His Highness so intimately yet it seems you have not the faintest idea. Lord Geto is the one that has chosen everything for this wedding; from the perfumes to the flowers, to your dress. Oh! Though such strict…presentation aspects were demands from the council.”

Eyes darting to meet her warm honey-brown ones in surprise.

“He had it all thought out, my lady.” She finishes.

“That…” Your lips part. “I don’t understand.” You turn around and let the silk overcoat glide against your skin like a second one, “How does a monster have time to plan a wedding?”

She gasps and skirts her eyes around—as though merely speaking in here could land her in the dungeons. And you wouldn’t be surprised if it did.

The girl looks at you with pleading eyes- about to say something, but you’re shaking your head reassuringly. “It’s alright. You don’t have to answer.”

With a relieved sigh, she goes back to moisturizing and massaging your aching limbs. 

“But tell me this-” You continue, as the silence prolongs. “-how did so many of the Zenin family find posts in the palace? Last I knew, it was just Naoya’s father that had a position here.”

“As head advisor, yes.” She nods. “The Zenin advisors have only increased in number and notoriety. Before we even knew it, they went from just one in the palace- to now having the entire family in power.”

You hesitate, “Regent Geto’s doing?”

“Not at all.” To your surprise, she shakes her head. “It started when His Highness Geto Suguru was banished as a prince- that was when the family first came to power. And in the three years of his schooling, they’d only increased. When the young prince returned, there was no extracting them. They controlled it all…or so the old palace keepers whisper.” 

Your brows furrow, “Is that so…”

Looking around nervously once more—surely rehashing the palace history wasn’t a crime? “And they also whisper that…” She leans in close, half-covering her mouth conspiratorially. “There’s something strange about Advisor Naobito being the only one to serve His Majesty the King with his breakfasts- but His Highness doesn’t seem to care.”

Shivers down your spine.

“I-I see.”

You do.

You really do.

Nearby, the in-chamber water fountain starts to bubble. The girl gasps and looks between you and it-

That’s what makes you snap out of it - shaking your head and looking up at her with a slight smile. “My apologies. What’s your name?”

She hesitates, likely wondering whether you were going to report her for divulging so much information. But whatever she sees in your face seems to convince her that you’re not like them- you’re not like the Zenins. And she answers, “Kugisaki. Nobara Kugisaki.”

Nobara keeps you company until another flurry of attendants arrive - and soon enough, you find yourself dolled-up in countless layers of red and white silk. Golden patches and embroidery on your sleeves, nimbly designed into visions of mountaintops and fire lilies, the emblem of the Geto family on your back—it bore heavy. You were surprised - you expected more of his name upon you. Your face is painted. You’re perfumed once more. Roses were woven into your hair, and your feet are slipped into golden sandals. 

It hurt that your own tribe’s name wasn’t anywhere on your outfit. 

When you tried reaching for the sea-blue cloak you loved - not as lavish as the Fire Nation’s robes, but your most prized possession - the attendants had shook their heads.

Still, you tucked it into the wide circumference of your sleeves nonetheless. 

As those double doors opened and you were led outside, some of your guards stationed outside - in case of any funny business - froze. Shoko smiled sadly. Ijichi’s jaw dropped—

And you weren’t sure how to feel about everyone reacting to you like so. 

The procession was long and mind-numbing with luxury; it gets to a point before opulence becomes vile. And in the Fire Nation, most weddings were status symbols rather than actual ceremonies of love. For the Prince Regent - the future King as far as anyone knew - most of all. 

You could hear it outside.

The clothes. The music. The swell of a public that cascaded never-ending into the widespread palace courtyard and watched, and the passing of appetizers leafed with gold. Red-hot ribbons and lanterns, the oversized faces of dragons with drunk ministers atop them—throwing flowers and bits of golden paper - cymbals clashed and dancers of all sorts and music made their way into the palace pavilion. Drummers banged. Children squealed at firecrackers. In contrast, you walked quietly shouldered by your warriors and being led down the pathway to your husband.

The place where the binding ceremony would take place was the pavilion overlooking the Fire Nation public. Where the entrance of the palace was. 

At the very top of a hundred stone steps, where the audience convened below. 

The elders had drawn a circle of ash for you to step into.

And so you do.

Perfectly placed on display. 

A hush falls over the crowd. Caught between merriment at the war ending and morbid curiosity and fear, they were chanting in dialects that you didn’t understand - though the stay word or two you’d learned through intelligence cracking made you recognize they were singing about love, about unison.

Today there would be none.

There would be blood.

Lady Tsukumo’s prediction still lingered at the back of your mind. Though you kept your eyes downward and awaited your fate.

Your fate being the tall, red-clad shadow at the edge of your peripheral vision. He stands next to you.

Your breath catches as it hits you that this was Geto- and he seemed even more broad and intimidating than you remembered. The only things you can make out: long, dark hair and arms crossed behind his back. His uniform seemed to glint with something- gold? Though you don’t look up to confirm, you’re training your eyes down at the stone steps—and feeling the man straighten up beside you.

“It’s a lot of people, isn’t it?”

You almost jolt-

Had you been any less disciplined, even an ounce, you would have darted your head upwards and gaped at him in disbelief. Here was Geto Suguru…speaking to you as if nothing ever happened.

How could he do that? How could he speak like that? What gave him the right—? The very same that broke your heart over and over- no, this was a very different Geto from the one you knew on the mountaintop. How could he stand there like this - wearing the same body, the same face, the same voice but slightly deeper, and smile at you like that- 

And pretend like everything was okay?

You speak in an even tone, “It is.”

“I haven’t seen this many people since the graduation.” 

Your chest hurts. “I have.” And for the first time, you’re looking at him squarely. “On the battlefields.”

And the first thought that should hit you was how much he’s changed—how his face now frames his face and cascades down his back like ink, his jaw has set into something sharper, his features have become more refined. Melted away the baby fat to reveal the handsome man within. Years of training and war have left him more chiselled than before- and even through the billowing robes of his traditional attire, you can make out the corded muscle underneath. 

He’s both familiar and not. Familiar in those eyes like polished crystals peering down at you, not in the severity that hid beneath them. Geto wore the traditional red and black sokutai; not just any red, but the red of blood after its long since been spilled, of battlefields. Piqued shoulder pads. High collar. Fine gold tracing. 

Even a section of his hair was bunched-up into a knot atop his head whilst the rest of it flowers, held up with a gold pin. And on his waist was a golden belt studded with…a singular blue sapphire. 

He looked so much happier in your memories. 

The first thought that actually - actually - hits you is that he’s grown into everything he feared he’d become. 

A fiery breeze ruffles Geto’s long hair and makes him look as though a dream. Or a nightmare. 

Despite what you’ve said, his gaze remains unwavering. “I see, general.”

Suddenly, the ash around you erupts in flames, like a phoenix—and the marriage rites commence. 

.

.

.

You meant it when you said that Fire Nation weddings were known more for their status than their emotion. 

Because the actual rites were stiff and sped-through; as though they were hurrying through the sole sentimental part of the wedding in haste to proclaim the two of you married. Once the circle of ash had been set alight, the Royal Fire Sage had appeared behind you two and boomed out invitations to the spirits and ancestors. 

And then you’d been made to recite your vows to one another for the entire courtyard to hear. To make it known - to someone else if not the two of you - that you would have to cherish one another, to understand one another, and to…love one another.

Through good times and bad.

And to bring an heir. 

As you repeated after him, you wondered just how much of it could have applied before.

And as the two of you finished, you were handed a porcelain sake bowl that looked dipped in gold. As though a wabi-sabi artwork, but every bit of it had been shattered. You both took three sips each of the rich, translucent liquid—promising unity.

Your hands tightened on the bowl.

And then you placed your offerings of evergreen branches as newlyweds, down on the sacred circle of ash, then clapped twice and bowed. 

To the public.

The roaring cheers were deafening.

You closed your eyes tightly against the noise. 

There was a reception afterwards, of course, and it was just as disgustingly lavish as you thought it would be; though as the married couple, there was rarely any time for you to eat or drink. You couldn’t indulge when there were ministers and master benders and government officials begging for your attention—most of all, you couldn’t kill when you had a plan. 

But oh- did you think of bypassing that plan and going in for the strike when Zenin Naoya had come sneering to your raised table. Wishing the newlyweds a long and prosperous life together.

He spat it out like venom.

Even more so when a new attendant had wished ‘the future King and Queen’ a long and happy life together. 

Other big, big names came and went. However Geto’s father wasn’t in a befitting state to make a public appearance, and you’d watched Geto’s reaction closely as this was whispered to him by one of the advisors. 

He was as still as a stone statue. 

But you could forgive the too-tight embraces from families attempting to woo their way into the good graces of the future monarchy, and the ministers that sloshed their sake on you. You could forgive the generals that eyed you suspiciously, and the young aristocrats that tugged on their guardians’ robes and asked which nation you were from…and whether that was allowed. You could forgive it all. You weren’t wearing your nation’s colors—and you had to smile as your soldiers bowed to you as per your royal title. 

You never let them bow to you when you were their general. Just general. 

You could forgive it all, because your plan started only after the wedding reception.

When the curtains were drawn, and alcohol suffused into the air. When you were beckoned by the team of attendants that readied you for the wedding, and escorted away into the privacy of the royal baths.

You wondered if it was just you who felt like some in the reception were leering like they already knew…

Readied, once more.

By the time you’re donning a sheer red robe, and guided to Geto’s sprawling princely chambers, he’s already there sitting at the edge of the bed. Back turned to you.

His armor removed and attire half-off - draping over one broad shoulder. And the other….was a pale body underneath the luminous moonlight filtering in—rippled with muscles and slightly freckled. Though they looked faded, as if he’d gained them once a long time ago and had rarely been out in the Sun since. 

You could guess they were from Mount Inferno.

Tonight was to be your consummation, and you knew they’d be checking for evidence in the morning. 

You walk up to the Fire Lord. 

Soundless steps.

And yet, he still turns. His long, jet-black hair falls off of one shoulder and tumbles down his back like a waterfall—it’s glossy and reaches down past his waist. There’s a slight dampness to it, and you wonder whether he’d been scrubbed and perfumed down to the bone, too. You don’t know why but you mourn the way his hair covers most of his toned back.

Quickly, however, you snap yourself out of such nonsense.

You gulp and take a step closer. “I have arrived as the attendants have directed me-”

“Must we be so formal with one another?” He speaks. Geto’s tone is deeper than it was on the mountain, with a polished edge to it that spoke of years of lessons—rigorous. More mature. You think back to your first impression of him- no, it wasn’t just padded cushions and perfume after all, huh? “We’re married now, y’know.”

You’re looking up and realize there’s a smile playing at his lips. 

“We are.” And your voice, too, sounds so much more mature than back then. “But that doesn’t mean we’re not strangers-”

“But we’re not.”

“We are.”

There’s a frosty silence that stretches between you two, and you’re starting to think it might last until sunrise- but then Geto puts his face in his hands and sighs. Heavy and unbroken. “At least…at least just for tonight…” Voice something so small—something that reminds you of the Geto from nine years ago. “Could we not be strangers?”

You don’t answer.

But as he stares at you - piercing through your very being - your hands move as if hypnotized to the sash of your robe. And his eyes grow murky- they grow dark—following you like a predator follows its prey. 

Though which one of you was the predator, it’s hard to say. 

With a single flick of your fingers, your robe is dropping off of you.

And if you thought his gaze was smoldering before, they’re practically glazed and blackened now. In almost a trance, he keeps his eyes on you and reaches his hand outwards- and murmurs in a low timbre. “Come to me.”

“Is that an order as King?”

“We both know I have no power as King.”

A plea. 

You step. Silently. 

And soon enough, you’re standing in front of Geto Suguru - in-between his manspread thighs. He gazed upon you, and you gaze upon him. It’s now that you’re noticing his outer layers had been stripped through, and the only thing that he’s donning now were baggy white trousers doing little to hide the muscles underneath, and a hitoe: it was a dark, draped robe that almost looked like a yukata. Loose and flowy.

Shifting aside to reveal a puffy pink nipple on his left side. 

Then before you know it- you’re both pushing him back onto the bed by his shoulders—and crashing your lips into his.

And you’re not sure what you’re expecting- fuck, you’re not sure how long you’ve agonized over this very moment, but Geto’s kissing you and you’re kissing him. And it’s everything you’ve imagined in all your most innocent girlhood dreams. 

He tastes of jasmine and crisp summer air - the curtains behind you flutter with a breath of cool air, and you’re gasping. It’s then that Geto takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

Clasping the back of your head, he angles it to one side and lets his delicious tongue inside. Exploring your mouth for a few seconds before fishing it back out n’ then leaning even closer to suck on your tongue. The moment he tastes you, he groans. “Please…”

And you think - for a brief, stupid moment - that you’ve wanted nothing more.

But Geto’s canines nip at your lower lip, and reality’s hitting you all at once. All at once. 

You’re breaking the kiss with a sickeningly sweet pop! and pushing him down by his shoulders. Geto’s scorching hot pants fan your face, his long hair tickles your neck. Perhaps too afraid to look him in the eyes- to see what expression he has on now, you’re shuffling down his body. Pawing between his legs. 

But just before your knees can hit the floor—an arm reaches out and stops you.

Grabbing ahold of your own, he’s pulling you up. 

In split-seconds, you’re finding yourself back on the bed - this time with the positions flipped. You have your body rested against a mattress that feels like a thousand clouds. You have your cunt throbbing wildly as Geto beckons you to stay and kneels down on the bedside. 

Like he’s praying.

Though the only plea he whispers is between your naked legs.

Getting swallowed up almost instantly in the cute, slobbering kiss he’s pressing against your plump, puckered lips. Just so ready for him.

Geto’s dark brows contort as your legs jerk open a bit further and your cunt’s sloshin’ out. 

Lascivious ribbons of creamy slick empty out of you n’ end up dripping down his chin - it glistens underneath the cool, blueish moonlight - and you’re watching as he sticks the very tip of his tongue out to taste. You see those clouded amethyst eyes start to grow even murkier, heavy and half-lidded. He looks up at you in half-shock as the syrupy taste of your cunt enters his mouth, and the infamous Fire Lord can’t help but moan—

“Honey, I want to taste you for eternity.”

“You’re not s…oh.” Eyes clenching shut. Breath catching in your chest. Whatever you were about to say- Geto’s lappin’ the words right out of you.

With the slightest inch of his tongue squeezes in- hot and pulsing between your folds. The ridged texture of his tastebuds glue to your most sensitive parts—polishing off every ounce of the gloss that coated between your pussylips. And once he’s downed it all like the sweetest of mead, Geto purses his pink lips and spits.

A stream of glittering saliva that hits you. 

You flinch-

“Too cold?” Geto’s voice just seems so loud in your eardrums. Low and so much more ruined than you remember it- it makes you blink up at him. And whatever he’s seeing in your expression, it seems to answer his question. 

Because then he’s running a thumb down the wad of spit plastered to your cunt. Tap-tap-tapping. 

And before you know it, you’re feeling the frigid, exposed parts of your pussy turn into something sizzling.

Fuck.

Bubblin’ over and fizzing.

He was using his powers to…your brows shoot up to your hairline. 

You’re clamoring onto your elbows. You’re quaking your thighs shut- and actually getting them shoved even further apart—by both of Geto’s bulky shoulders lodging himself even further between them. His sticky, hot breaths were practically basking your cunt - and soon enough Geto’s nose-deep between them and slobberin’. “Sh-shit, now that’s unfair…”

Prolonged, open-mouthed kisses. From the tender edges of your pussylips to fishing his tongue between them- swirling inside your wet hole.

Now that he’d heated up the spittle touching your cunt, it was Geto’s time to smear it all over using his mouth and pretty face. “Mmm, not too bad, huh?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” You scoff. Raking your fingers through his raven locks.

“Ahead of myself? No, no…” Geto murmurs- and he’s purposefully doing it so the vibrations shot up your spine and made you arch into him. The crown of his tastebuds sloshed between your folds and gave you such luxurious licks prodding inwards. Flattened top. Teasing edge of his tongue. Then Geto reaches his right hand up and swats the glistening top of your cunt. Soon enough, you’re feeling the slippery layers of his saliva grow even hotter. “You need to know your place, my little Waterbender.”

“That’s general to you.” You’re tugging on a fistful of his hair. Still damp; though by now it was less with water, and more with sweat. 

“General…” Geto repeats. Another swat- controlling and ebbing the heat in a way that made fogginess coil around your brain. “And do you realize that you’re in enemy territory, general? My best friend?”

“I- am aware.” Gritting out—more so because you couldn’t handle the slight whimper that threatens to crackle on the edge of your tone. 

You’re dragging an even less merciful handful of his hair in retaliation- dragging and dragging until his lips almost pop off of your cunt. He’s grabbing onto you with a single hand groped underneath your ass, and such a desperate husky noise. 

To his credit, you just didn’t expect Geto to moan.

But then again, he didn’t expect you to put a blade to his throat, either. 

Geto’s purple eyes snap wide open at the ice-cold feeling- and the air prickles with the power of bending. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that you’d used the dampness of his lengthy hair - the water particles, the ravenous sweat - and melded it into a steel-hard dagger that pricked at his pale throat. Just a single gulp of his Adam’s apple leaves Geto Suguru nicked.

And crimson beads down to his robe—matching. Wedding colors.

‘A single life will be lost on your wedding night at your hand Before Dawn has defeated darkness, darkness shall be defeated within. And red shall stain the floors of a royal suite.’

It would take just a single flick- just a single flick of your wrist to end the Fire Prince’s life right here and right now. To end this all. But you take your time to admire him…at least before the life drains out of his eyes.

That second of eye contact lasts longer than lifetimes- longer than an eternity together. Just the two of you in the royal suite. Geto’s mouth on your cunt, and your dagger at his neck—and to your surprise, he doesn’t look like he’d be anywhere else. 

In fact- to your offense, he flickers his eyes down to the callous that was peaking out in the web between your dominant thumb and your index. And slowly - almost snake-like - Geto’s inching his face closer and pressing a soft kiss—right as you were holding the dagger.

Your breath hitches- it’s silent. It’s oh-so-silent.

And Geto’s darting his eyes up at the sound of it, cautiously pulling away. But not to any sort of mortal safety, of course, because when has Geto Suguru ever followed your expectations?

He’s instead maneuvering his face- and unsure where he was going, you’re following his actions with that deadly blade of yours. But the Fire Lord doesn’t run. He doesn’t beg. He doesn’t change. He merely tips his head ever-so-slightly at an angle, then sidles his hot face between your clammy thighs to…to make out with your cunt.

Make out.

Not just lapping and lickin’ like he’d been doing before. 

Your mouth falls open, “Oh.”

Not just prodding away between your pussylips with the tip of his tongue.

“O-oh, fuck.”

He’s properly gaping his mouth open and massaging the forefront of your cunt with his muscle. Again and again. The thick, flattened plane of him rests on top of your pussylips n’ drags up and down, back and forth, teasing you mindless before swabbin’ his wet inches inside. 

Geto’s practically glued to you- the tiptop of his tongue rovering for every sweet spot inside. Long, drunken thrusts. And with every single one, you’re reaching your arched hips upwards. “Fuck- fuck—” 

The silvery tip of your dagger digs against his skin, and the prince flutters his eyes open all feline-like.

Lightning shoots through your body as you take in the utterly dazed sight of him. “You realize that I can- hah, that I can just kill you now, right?”

“I’m aware.” Languidly, he’s blinking his eyes open properly. Your pussy just tasted so good lacquering his tongue like this; in such a warm…wet layer of your sap. And the only thing the fearsome Firebender can do right now is tip his head back and let those juices drain to the back of his throat. “And it’s only makin’ me harder.”

“This?” Pressing the blade even harder. “This.”

In response he can only nod.

Nod and nod and nudge your pulsing clit with his nose. 

Your jaw’s just dropping. Was he making fun of you…?

“Fuck- I-I think I get it now.” You’re blubbering, hand tremoring. “You really are a monster-”

“I am.” Though you can’t decipher his tone of voice. Merely feeling the way Geto presses a few more noisy kisses on your cunt, before he’s raising his hand and- 

You shut your eyes.

You’re hearing the solid smack! on those swollen, needy lips before you feel it. Hot. And just as soon as the searing sting makes its way through your thrumming vessels, Geto’s attached his mouth to your cunt once more and is tunneling his tongue crazily into your pretty hole. Just so wet n’ needy for him that you’re sucking him up after every hackhammerin’ thrust. Squeezes him closer. 

He moans- fucking moans as he cuts himself off from breathing. He doesn’t care if he suffocates - as long as it’s between those tremblin’ legs of yours.

Though it’d be a damn cold day in hell before you ever let him beat you to your mission objective. 

So you’re pulling back your deadly dagger, and you’re catching the slight surprise flickering in Geto’s eyes at the act. Quickly replaced by something more knowing, something…far darker and unreadable when that blade finds itself positioned back on his beautiful throat.

The vertical line of it stands out starkly. A thin line of crimson draws itself on the edge.

You’re somehow clenching through gritted teeth, “I…need to kill you—for the good of this world.”

He keeps perfect, ruinous eye-contact with you as he leans his pretty face forwards. He keeps eye-contact with you as he raises his hand and spanks your pussy once more.

“So do it.”

Hot sparks explode behind your eyes.

And the imprint of all five of Suguru’s doughy fingertips seem to emblazon themselves on your cunt- you’re realizing then that he’s using his powers again. He’s leaving a mark on your pussy…for however long he may be alive. For however long you may let him stay alive.

And he’s eating you out like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have.

The sweetest of sultry desserts latched onto his mouth - Geto ties your legs tighter around his head. Then he’s mouthing aside your soaked pussylips to stick his tongue in and out, in and out, in and out. He’s pinpointing every hidden spot inside you with his dexterous tongue- quirking it juuuuust right to one side and hittin’ your g-spot ruthlessly. 

“I am going to—” Though the words feel weak, even on your lips. “I-I am going to-”

“So fucking do it.” He’s a man on death row. He’s a man starved- your dagger moves even further upwards and Geto’s sharp white canines make an appearance as he hisses. “Do it…”

“I-”

“I dare you.”

And for all the world, you might have possessed the steadiest arm in all of the land. But the way he’s makin’ your eyes roll to the back of your head - just the winding, zig-zagging slashes of his tongue squeeeeezing into your pussy - would be enough to make anyone tremble. Even during their life’s mission. “I…sh-shit.” Bucking your traitorous hips upwards - so hard that it leaves a smear of glittering slick from his upper lip n’ to the tip of his nose.

Slash after slash.

Probe after probe.

He’s just so fatal with his tastebuds - sizzling against your velvety inner walls. And you wondered whether that was just you or his powers…

Before another hot smack! resounds against the sprawling corners of the royal suite. And Geto’s taking your star-struck moment to swirl the ends of two fingers inside, scissorin’ and bullying all their slender inches. 

They were the hands of the strongest Firebender of today. 

And they were smearing apart your snug channel. Squelching. Smushing themselves inside- the sheer length of them…oh, it felt like they were about to go on for daaaaays. And you’re rutting up into his vicious thrusts with a whimper, “P-please…”

“Please, do it if you must.” He breathes out scalding pants. Nostrils flared. Skin red. You’re left utterly shocked at his admission- you look up into his eyes and they’re crystal clear. “If it shall bring you peace- do it.”

Gaping, “Wh-what do you mean me…”

But he’s only honing his slick-glossed, slithering digits. And he’s such a quick learner, too, he’s locating your g-spot with only a few more thorough thrusts—his favorite target. That pulsing area writhes underneath his touch- and you know where he is exactly when the heat spreads from Geto’s fingertips. 

Leaving you ruined both inside and out.

Leaving him grinning around the gummy nub of your click. Sucking.

“If that is to be your wedding gift-” The mound of his voicebox pushes deeper against your blade, a hairsbreadth away from something irreversible. “-then take it-”

“Sh-shiiiiit—” Tearing up.

“If that is what you’ve been dreaming of all this time-” He continues, voice growing more and more guttural by the second. Geto’s practically gulping your pussy into him, clinging onto him. Quivering. “If revenge is the only thing th-that’s let me cross your mind…if only for the briefest second, then I shall thank it.” 

Streaming down your cheeks now. “Su—fuck.” You could feel the twisting and turning at the pit of your stomach as you grew ever-closer. 

He continues. “If it is what my wife desires…then so be it.” Was he fucking drunk? Was he talking out of…of your pussy? There was a slurring edge to Geto’s words, toppling over one another. And those beautiful amethyst eyes of his struggle to remain open - blinking lazily - as he laps n’ keeps lapping at your leaking pussy. Those juices smearing all over his jaw. “Kill me.”

Then down to the column of his throat.

Then collecting on your trembling blade.

Geto’s boring straight into your eyes as he utters. “But until then, m’gonna keep making you cum over and over again.” Quirking the curvaceous tips of his fingers to ram straight into your g-spot- he makes you shatter. “For as long as I have left to live, m’gonna make you the happiest woman on Earth.”

“That’s just unfair-” You’re damn-near sobbing. One of your hands claws through his night-black hair, and the other uses the flattened edge of the dagger to let you see his face better. “That’s just really, really unfair…”

“I was never a fair man.”

Then you’re being fucked through your waves of bliss like never before- those looooong, arching cresendos of dopamine through your body. Those white-hot stars. The edges of your vision blurring. 

And the only thing your muddled mind can think to do is plant your feet flat on the mattress and arch- and press your drippin’ cunt closer to his face. As Geto Suguru suckles on your clit, he traps it between his teeth and draaags it out far enough that you yelp. 

All the while, his fingers were slammin’ straight into your g-spot. Over and over.

Rubbing the softened tips of it to that pulsing spot—he’s elongating your orgasm like never before. He’s making you feel those carnal sensations in eeeeevery single ridge and crevice inside your cunt, three of his fingers stuffing you full by now. “Never was an understanding man.” He gasps through French kisses on your clit - every time he rolled his tongue over it, you were mewling. “Never was a kind man- hngh. Never was a good man.”

Smack! 

It resounds even louder than the last few, the feeling of his heated-up fingers spanking your cunt. 

And you swear you’re sent straight over the edge for a second time—

“I can only promise to be the damn best husband for as long as I have.”

It’s with this notion in mind that you’re dragged through your intense peaks, and once you’re finally coming back to - it’s to the sound of Geto pulling away from your spent pussy with a loud slurp! He follows the stray wires of sap that still connect him to you- pressing a final few kisses before finally wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Then looking you deep in your eyes as he then licks off the glowy sheen that covered his skin. 

This was what did it for you.

You’re raising your stone-cold blade high—high, higher, and even higher then. Until it was well above his head, and then—

Slashing it down to decimate his outer robe. 

Even Geto himself looks shocked at this- before you’re grabbing ahold of him by the shoulders and dragging him up onto the bed. It dips with a groan at the weight of you both, its ancient springs equally as shocked, and you don’t care if you’re causing a commotion when you pull him by a lock of his hair till your back rests against a vast metal headrest. Against your skin, you could feel the twists and twirls of some intricate wooden carving - but the only thing you could focus on right now was him.

Him and the aching, throbbing erection he was sporting in his loose trousers. 

The fabric paper-thin. The outline of his cock obvious.

He was so looooong and deliciously curved to the right, hard enough that you could spot at least one thick vein prodding down the side of him. Precum had seeped from the top of his blushin’ red crown and darkened a patch in his trousers; it sticks slightly to his skin as Geto rests a hand on the hemline and teases taking it off.

“Do I need to bend a dagger for that, too?” You quirk a brow.

“Hah…” Geto huffs out a laugh, “No need to exert yourself, my little Waterbender- or more like…my wife.”

Ah, his wife.

His wife.

His wife.

And then your…husband does the honor of stripping down his only remaining piece of clothing.

And the first thing you notice is that he’s even bigger than what your imagination had concocted. Red-hot and throbbing.

A slight spattering of black curls dust his base, and partway up his navel. It glistens with beads of precum that just refused to stop streaming from the tip of Geto’s cock - hard. So painfully hard. 

Fucking painful.

Even contact with the frigid air seemed to make him quiver, n’ his cock was pulsing so hard that you could physically count it from where you were seated. Eyes wide and gaping - you don’t feel the slightest bit abashed about staring, and Geto doesn’t seem the slightest bit self-conscious. He’s got a gorgeous cock, and he knows it. 

It feels so hot as he places the ruddied tip straight on top of your raw cunt and presses down. Not even easing inside- just smushing your folds down so that you’re getting a good feel of him.

And you do, of course.

You’re grabbing Geto by each one of his luscious deltoids and digging your nails into the firm muscle. Crashing your lips into his. Hissing, “I-inside.”

Making his velvety, sap-covered tip squeeze between your pussylips. He’s entering you with a buck and a cracked groan at the back of his throat—“I already am, general.” Just a single inch inside and he sounds breathy. Just a single inch inside and his head drops forwards- a curtain of inky black hair falling around you like a veil to the world. 

You’re reaching upwards and taking out his signature golden hair pin. Even more of it.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this…vulnerable. 

And then the Fire Lord’s throwing your legs over his shoulders and bending you flexibly down in half, hands finding purchase upon either side of your waist n’ slamming his hips into you like a madman. “And I’m have a d-damn good time fucking my wife.”

Geto’s reeling his lower half back- all the way until his ruby-red tip is purposefully stretching your hole out. Feeling you - just feeling you.

Before giving you a thorough thrust from the crown of his cockhead and down to his thick base. So thick. Your mouth’s falling open into a similar ‘oh’ that your pussy’s being expanded into. 

Then repeating.

And repeating.

“Fuck, she’s so wet. Is that because you’re the- hah, land’s greatest Waterbending master-”

“Shut up.”

“And if I refuse?” There’s that hint of mischief in his voice you recognized from your past. “And if I claim that this pussy actually lov- liked this mouth of mine not too, mmm, long ago?” Through a clenched grin and furrowed brows, he somehow manages out. “So what do you have to say about that, general?”  

Your maw keeps dropping open the more and more of his jagged thrusts he’s placing. “W-weren’t you the one who said he’d be happy to- even hngh—die by my blade?”

“I was. I am.” He replies - and it’s so earnest that you don’t have anything more to say to him. Suddenly, Geto’s giving you a right slam! of his cocktip- colliding against what feels like the very back of your throat. “And I stand by- ngh, every word I said.”

“Th-then…”

Before you’re able to sputter out anything more, he’s reaching his right hand down. Snaking his long fingers between those plump pussylips of yours - Geto plaps! the flattened edge of his thumb down on top of your clit. Then starts rolling n’ rolling over it in time with his solid thrusts. And just as every passing second made you keen out more…it also made you more honest. 

And he could tell.

Geto’s feline smile presses on top of your forehead: a chaste kiss. One he’s repeating on your temples, your nose, either side of your cheeks, your chin, and finally your lips.

Humming against them, “But the reason I said that was because I’m in love with you.” And he says it so easily. Shock courses through your body- or perhaps that was just the feeling of him slammin’ into your g-spot. You get the distinct feeling that Geto had known where it’d be all this time - already having mapped you out with his roving fingers - and that he’d been holding out until this exact moment. “But why aren’t you completing your mission, yet?”

Your lips tremble- “I…”

“Let me make it clearer for you.” Gravelling tone pitching just a bit—just as he punishes out another slam! of his fingertips against your stuffed pussy. “Why haven’t you killed me yet?” He tosses his head with an attractive smile, “Is it because it feels too good? Be honest.”

Well…You’re scoffing, “You wish-”

He grins an irresistible grin before scorching his fingertips against your swollen cunt once more. Those Firebending powers of his certainly weren’t at full capacity - they weren’t even being used at a fraction of it. 

And yet, it still made itself known in how even the tiniest bit of contact made heat sprint through every atom, every axiom of your being.

And you can only clench your hand around Geto’s damp hair, feeling the glide of those silken locks through your fingers. It makes the man hoverin’ above you on the bed wince—letting out a throaty noise of ecstasy as you’re handling him so meanly. He fucking loved it. 

He’s dreamt of this for too fucking long.

Noticing this, you’re wrenching him back by his hair and spitting straight into his pretty mouth. Those pouty lips of his enclose immediately ‘round the sweet glob of spit you’re letting out - and he’s trying to kiss you almost immediately. “Mmmm…” Geto’s long lashes bat shut. At the very split-second that it had landed, you swore you could’ve felt his bashin’ cockhead swell even bigger. “Thank you, my wife.” 

Eyes opening once more- you see there’s such a carnal glint in them that you can’t explain.

“But don’t think that’s gonna make me forget.” And suddenly, you’re understanding just why his name was whispered far and wide. Why not a soul in his palace seem to speak a word against him. For fear, or…Yet another swat. “Why haven’t you killed me yet, my little Waterbender?” 

It was honestly feeling more like an interrogation at this point. 

Mockingly, Geto cocks his head to the side and bears you his throat.

Perfectly unharmed and unscarred. The thin line where your blade lay earlier was practically invisible. 

“C’mon…let me make this even clearer for you.” He goads, “Here’s your target. Here’s your enemy—kill me, my wife. Let’s see if you can, general.” Something almost maniacal in his grin, Geto’s dashing his dark hair backwards like a mane and pressing his forehead to yours. “Aren’t you the greatest Waterbender alive? You’re here because you’re bound by duty, are you not? Then why don’t you?”

A few harder thrusts. 

Eyes wide. Tone crazed. “Why don’t you—?”

Why don’t you? Any other soul would stop themselves out of fear- perhaps out of proximity. 

Good thing that you weren’t just any old soul.

And so you’re summoning that blade once more in a way that feels almost subconscious- your mind wasn’t really concentrated on the weapon. How could it be? When Geto’s plummeting cockhead was only growing speedier and speedier by the second - his round, reddened tip swirling about your insides and pinpointing every spot with his white precum. They were just the sloppiest strikes. 

Again and again.

Upturning even the smallest slick orifices and bruising his circumference into your spongiest depths. Your cervix stung with the imprint of him. 

Absolutely tortuous despite your training.

Which might be why the handle of your blade’s already half-melted; water dripping down your hand by the time you’re raising it to Geto’s pretty throat once more. “I…I am bound by my duty.” You breathe.

The enemy Lord’s grin widens as he registers your words. So you were finally taking the bait…

He looks down at the misshapen, gnarled excuse of a blade pushed to his throat—and notices the droplets of water cascading down your arm. And without a single warning, he’s craning his neck down - avoiding the sharp edge of the weapon - to liiiiiiick up those ice-cold droplets on your skin. It feels almost teasing looking at his tongue like this, already knowing what it’s done to you once. 

Murmuring almost awe-struck, “I am the general of the rebellion’s Waterbending faction and I am here to kill you.”

“Yes—” He whispers. Pitch raising. Octaves higher. “Yes.” There’s a thundering squelch! between your legs as he then grips onto your clit with torrid fingers. 

Your blade raises- ready to strike. “Geto Suguru, you are hereby to be assassinated at the hands of the new age. An act of revolution.”

“Yes—”

“An act of peace.”

“Fuck- yes.” Brows knitting once you clench. 

“An act of…love.” Impatiently, Geto then turns to smack! the glossy top of your clit. To pinch it. And he does it with heat-coated fingers that make you see stars. 

He stares at you, and you can’t look away. “So do it.” Almost gruffing the words out at you. And for how long he’s been saying these words to you, it’s just now hitting you at full force that this was a challenge. And how cocksure he was…“So kill me if you can bear to do it.”

For your nation, for others, you have to do this—you have to. Your hand trembles on the handle of the squat dagger. It feels small and almost…childish in your hands. But the longer the pause stretches between you two, the more it melts - until your weapon is nothing in your hands at all.

It was futile and you always knew it was. He did, too. 

This was never going to happen.

Especially not when he was fucking you so incredibly—

And you’re merely wrapping both around the back of Geto’s head and tugging him to you.

You’re crashing our lips into his with a moan. “I can’t-” You gasp. You gawk. You’re barely breathing every time his mouth’s parting from yours and slamming back down with an even harder kiss. “I can’t bring myself to kill you, Suguru.”

Pain. It sounds like defeat. But to Geto Suguru, he’s heard no sweeter music. “And why is that…?” The infamous Fire Lord tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth. 

“I-I don’t-”

Smack! Right on top of your clit. Honesty, remember?

“That’s not an answer.”

Heat coils between your legs - almost feeling like flames licking at your skin. He was making it clear that you were putty in his hands. “Please-”

Smack! Harder. 

“It’s b-because I…”

“Speak up, general.” Smack! Smack! Smack! Harder. Three consecutive slaps of his fingertips- before you could even attempt to formulate an answer. Though Geto wasn’t completely merciless…at least not with you - he soothes over the sting with a few glissades of his fingertips. Pressing down on your knobbly clit then and combatting the pain with pleasure. Pinching. “Your soldier can’t hear you.”

And then you don’t know what exactly is doing it for you: perhaps the flared ridge of his tip, oh-so-perfectly grazing over your g-spot—or perhaps the way those half-shuttered eyes of his were staring down at you.

Practically boring down.

Seeking your soul.

There’s such an intensity about him- and you’re pretty sure you’re not imagining the way the air around you two heats up a few degrees. Palpable to a degree. Your skin perspires, and a bead of sweat runs down Geto’s own temple. 

Tensely balancing at the edge of his jawline as he whispers. “Tell me, my heart…”

“I-it’s because I love you, too.” The confession comes rushing out of you before you even realize it. But once it’s out in the sweltering open air - there’s nothing more to do.

Nothing more to see. Nothing more beautiful than Geto Suguru’s pinched brows as you somehow - somehow…as though refusing to let himself believe such an idea - surprise him. His eyes glisten, his lips part. And that toned chest of his shudders just a lil’ as his breath hitches.

For a long time, Geto doesn’t let out anything but a few rasping grunts as he fucks you—fully and thoroughly—

And then he’s collapsing on top of you n’ puncturing out a few more sloppy strokes. Body hunched into yours. Mouth open and pressed on the column of your throat.

Heat bends around Geto’s fingertips - thrumming with energy, nearly vibrating - when he captures your clit. Harder. 

Geto feels you clenching around him - throbbing furiously - and echoes out a prolonged grooooan as your third high of the night overcomes you. “Sh-shiiiiit—” It’s not one that you were expecting, and the sudden flashes of white behind your vision leave you startled. Your head drops back, and you’re mewling out Geto’s name twofold. “S-Suguru-”

“You haven’t called me that in years.” A drunken grin spreads across his face. One hard thrust that bangs into your g-spot. “Say it again-”

“Suguru-”

And one more spank. Sparks of pleasure more than you could register. 

“Suguru—”

Your yelping n’ yowling were like music to his ears; the sweet sound of victory. And every time his pace quickened, your pupils are left dazed and confused—blinking up at him blearily. 

Babbling.

“What’s thaaaat, my little Waterbender?” Geto’s pert lips twitch with amusement on either side, and he’s soon leaning his head down to hear you. To tease you by mimicking not hearing you—“You’ve got something to say to your lover? Heh- or maybe it’s to your husband?”

“It’s something to the- hngh, pain in my ass.” You snipe out.

His free hand reaches down n’ gropes a good handful of your ass. “We haven’t gotten there yet.” 

And as your mouth drops open as his sheer audacity- Geto wastes no time returning your favor from earlier by spittin’ straight into your maw. Letting you swallow it before he’s thumbing over your clit again, “As I was- fuck! saying…”

“Mhmmm?”

And instead of just telling him - you suppose that showing him would be just as effective. And you’re running your hands all over the curves and muscles of his sturdy body; along the plush area of his pecs, and then down wherever you could reach his abs—pathetically reaching to grab onto Geto’s dripping, ruby-red cock. “I need you inside.” 

His fingertips flare with his- slamming down on your clit once more. You just felt so raw and perfectly overstimulated. “I already am…?” Geto raises a brow. 

“No—” You shake your head. And as for the bending powers…two could play that game. Without a single warning, you’re bending the moisture at the tips of your digits and dropping their temperature starkly - making the powerful Firebending master shiver at the play with heat. “I need you to cum inside me, Suguru.”

And you always did know he was weak for first names, didn’t you?

Because in no time, Geto’s then hiding his blushing face into the crook of your neck- and gluing his ravenous hips to yours. With a few twitches deep inside, his scorching-hot tip bubbles over—finally.

And then he’s pouring out bucketload after bucketload of hot, gooey cum.

Body bowing. Toes curling. His long hair was knotted and dampened with perspiration, sticking to your own clammy body as he’s tangling the two ever-closer. 

Geto isn’t even completely done with the crescendo of his high before he’s already attempting to fuck every ounce of it inside you. 

Sticky. It’s a satiny mess between your legs, and Geto’s ecstasy was just the tip of the iceberg. “Fuck.” The true sloppiness presented itself when it was time for him to fuck each and every wad into you - directing the sheer volume of it with his fat red cock. A thorough prod of his shaft leaves a few droplets being swerved straight into your womb. “O-oh, fuuuuuck-” 

“Shit.” Just as he utters his sensual sounds - all of the stray parchments in the room catch on fire and peter themselves out. Instant. He’s bending the combustion in the air around you two. “Oh, gods…”

Without a single word.

Without a single intention.

You’re still suffering from the sultry aftershocks of your own high- and yet you have to clear your head. You have to be the rational one. “Suguru-”

SLAM!

Before you can sputter out anything more, he’s reaching an arm out to grip onto the headboard and leaving you speechless.

Just the sound of you saying his name- just the sound of you saying his name had his heavy balls clenching once more. And suddenly you’re feeling an even greater warmth seep into your stomach—Geto’s cumming once more. And the veiny length of his shaft was just accumulating it all at the back of your pussy with squelch after squelch!

Broken, mangled remains of your name escaping his throat. 

You can’t help but stare up at the corded muscles of his biceps- arms enough to…kill for. Almost as soon as you’re thinking the thought, you watch as Firebending seeps out of his limbs n’ melts through the metal headboard. Geto’s catching the look on your face with a priggish smile.

“Oh, shut up.” You roll your eyes.

“I didn’t say a thing.”

He didn’t have to. Because he’s pressing on your stomach after the final zap of his high has completed - burnished red cockhead finally calming down - and he’s watching the cum drip out of you. All of him—that he’s stuffed lovingly inside your pussy. 

And Geto doesn’t think he’s felt more victorious. 

“Suguru..” You start. “Earlier, when you said something about you having no power-”

“I meant it.” He wasn’t lying. He looks deep into your eyes, “As the Prince Regent I am technically the one authority in the palace. Yet it remains a farce…my father still holds one true reign, and the council has decided unanimously that he rules from his deathbed. How competent, yes?”

You ponder, “I see.” Then you ask—“Did you ever read…”

He looks at you so intently, and you shake your head and rephrase the question.

“Why didn’t you answer any of my letters?”

“Letters?” Geto’s eyes flash. “You wrote letters?”

“Oh, Suguru…” Such sadness in your tone. It was obvious they’d never even reached him. “Almost every week for the first few years. I stopped when the war commenced…seemingly by your doing.”

Nearby, a loveseat catches fire and immediately puts itself down. Lips trembling, he grits out—“I…I had no idea.” Enraged. “Those fucking elders- I wondered whether you’d just gotten sick of me-” 

“What? No, don’t be stupid-”

He chuckles, “Glad to know you still think so highly of me.” Nuzzling your cheek.

“I do.” You stubbornly hold back your tears, “And I need to know…how in league are you with the Zenins?”

And to your surprise, a smile spreads across his face. “The Zenins?” He rests his forehead against yours and sighs, “Silly Waterbender. The entire reason I was sent to Mount Inferno in the first place was over a fight about the Zenins- and even then, they bartered their son in there to keep an eye on me. And if I was in cahoots with the Zenins to any degree, would I have started the rebellion?”

Your heart skips a beat. “You’re the one that started the rebellion?”

“Yes, from the confines of my lavish prison, unfortunately.” Geto grimaces. “Though I’m glad it got strong enough to this point. It was me who sparked and funded the idea…even misinformed the imperial guard away from where riots took place. But the uprisings, the community, the victory- that was entirely the peoples. While the only thing I could do was sit here and play nice with the Zenins.” Bitterly.

Pulling him deeper to you. Two halves of the same future: you think back to Lady Tsukumo’s prediction. “My big, strong husband. Was poor wittle tea time tough?”

“Oh, it was deplorable.” He jests.

And Geto exhales properly as though the first time in years.

You ache for him.

Just as he aches for you. For your past and for your future. “I’m sorry, my wife.” He tremors after a long stretch of silence. “All this time…I wish I could’ve been a stronger prince.”

You can’t help but punch him softly on his shoulder, “Stupid Suguru. It’s okay. We’re all just grown-up kids pretending we know the way.” Sniffling. You could have a real wedding later, you could make up for time later. “But you better make it up for these nine years we didn’t see the fire lilies, or else…”

“I’d do anything for you.” He breathes. Lips pressing to yours, “I’d let the world burn for you.”

.

.

.

History will remember this day.

As the start of how a bender from the Water Nation would one day become the Queen of the Fire Nation; as the start of a reckoning that started from within the palace itself and spread like a disease into the lands outwards; as the day of revolution. 

The Zenin family has long since held the palace captive.

Sitting up on their perfumed, padded cushions and ordering the extinguishment of anyone that wasn’t like them. It was upon their orders that the Fire Nation attacked—and on their orders that the war was prolonged. Nine years of death and destruction.

And that night, after wiping yourself down, you’re sneaking out of the royal suite once Geto’s eyes had closed. Roaming the dark, winding hallways like a predator at night; your eyes were wide and your Waterbending thrummed at your fingertips. Now it had an edge and was begging to meet flesh. 

The first chamber that you’d encountered after exiting the marital bedroom was the current King’s chamber - one that Geto had told you had been banned to him since he could remember. He hadn’t seen his father since he’d first gotten here nine years ago. Perhaps because of the decoration and distraction of the wedding, the door had finally been left unlocked and you could peer in. And from the foot of the doorway, you stood watching—as one of the Zenin ministers sped a spoonful of curdling concoction that should’ve been medicine. Perhaps.

But the sweet, simpering smell that drifted from it told you something else. 

Fire lilly.

Poisonous when cooked. 

Your fingers twitched—and you were just about to send a deadly stream of water spearing through the man. But a sudden tap on your shoulder make you jump-

Whirling around to find Geto.

He smiles at you warmly, and then mouths something in the semi-darkness. It’s hitting you instantly what he means: this one is mine. It’s his revenge to take. Nodding understandingly, you watch as the spark of Firebending starts to curdle around his digits—and you’re scurrying off into the darkness with a kiss pressed to his cheek.

You know exactly where you need to go.

You’d made note of the layout when Nobara had escorted you around.

And she’d given this room a wide berth.

Silent as the shadow that falls, dawn licks at the edge of your figure once you’re walking up to a bed chamber and knocking. Just a light rap. And before whomever was inside can answer, you meld into the shadows behind—just as Zenin Naoya steps out, you’re wielding a dagger of your water and ending him. 

A clean cut. Right across the throat. 

Because the Zenins, in starting this war, never intended for Geto Suguru to become King. They hoped for him to abdicate such a blood-soaked throne, or at best for an assassination from you…which was why Naoya himself had written you the letter. You did think it was strange that Geto’s handwriting wasn’t even the faintest shadow of what you remembered it to be. They had an inkling that you wouldn’t be giving yourself up to the Fire Nation so easily.

They wanted Zenin Naoya to be King.

The body falls.

A single life will be lost on your wedding night at your hand. Before Dawn has defeated darkness, darkness shall be defeated within. And red shall stain the floors of a royal suite.

The Sun is clawing away at a new day. 

In blood as we are borne, two worlds reunite under life and death.

A/N. MWAHHHHHH-

“Can I help you?”

Ashveil stares down at the person on the other side of the door like he’s trying to decide if they’re real or just another thing his brain coughed up out of boredom.

The office is quiet in the way it only ever gets when everyone else has scattered off somewhere. The Furbos are gone, Mister N is gone, even the usual background noise feels like it’s packed up and left him behind. So when someone knocked, it echoed up until even his own agency—loud, annoying, and intrusive.

And here you are.

The first thing he notes is that you don’t look like trouble. Not that “not looking like trouble” has ever stopped trouble before, but still—you’re just standing there, holding a bag that smells—he sniffs, subtle—good. Really good.

“I—um, sorry,” you start, already sounding like you think you’ve made a mistake. “I was looking for someone. Is Nihilux—”

“No,” Ashveil cuts in, leaning his weight against the doorframe like he’s got nowhere to be. Which—really—he doesn’t. “She doesn’t work here anymore.”

You blink, as if you didn’t expect the answer to come that quickly or maybe at all.

“Oh,” you say, and then you start talking.

You ramble. The words spills out of you in uneven, apologetic waves—about Nihilux, about how she’d often forget to eat, how you’d bring her food because she’d get so caught up in her art that hours would pass and she wouldn’t notice, how you weren’t even sure if she’d still be here but you thought you’d check anyway because it’s been a while and—

Ashveil listens.

There’s something oddly nice about it. The way your words tumble over each other, the way you circle back and correct yourself, the way you keep glancing at him like you expect him to shut the door any second now.

He doesn’t. Instead, he hums once, low in his throat, just enough to let you know he’s still there.

“…and yeah,” you finish, a little breathless. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to just… talk so much. You probably don’t even care.”

“Didn’t say that,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders.

Flustered, you look down at the bag in your hands.

“Well, since she’s not here…” you say, holding it out toward him, hesitant but decided all the same, “you can have this. I mean—only if you want. It was for her, but it’d be a waste otherwise. And I already bothered you, so…”

Ashveil blinks. “For me?” he echoes, like he needs to hear it again to make sure he didn’t misinterpret anything.

You nod quickly. “As an apology for talking your ears off.”

He takes it.

“Thank you,” he says, thumb hooking into the plastic as he lifts it slightly. It’s warm and fresh. His stomach reacts immediately—traitorous thing.

You smile, small and relieved. “Okay. I’ll go now,” you say, stepping back. “Sorry again.”

And just like that, you’re gone.

He doesn’t go back to his office right away. Instead, Ashveil lingers by the door, fingers resting loosely against the handle as he stares at the empty hallway like it might shift and give you back if he waits long enough. He almost expects the sound of hurried footsteps returning, like you might realize you changed your mind and went to retrieve the food you gave him.

You don’t.

He exhales through his nose and shuts the door.

When he turns back into the agency, it’s dim, cluttered, and quietly decaying in ways that have long since stopped bothering him. Bottles crowd every available surface—some empty, some not, and none of them particularly organized. Pills sit scattered where they were last left, and papers cover the walls and desk in uneven layers, their contents faded into irrelevance even to him. The computer hums steadily in the background, and the freezer in the corner hangs slightly open, leaking cold air into the room like it’s waiting for attention he won’t give.

He ignores all of it.

Instead, he clears a small space on the desk with a sweep of his arm, sending a few sheets of paper sliding to the door, and sets the bag down. There’s nowhere to sit, so he leans his weight against the edge of the desk, glancing at it for a moment longer before opening it.

The smell hits him immediately and—

Oh.

That’s… yeah. It smells good.

He reaches in, not bothering to look for utensils, and takes a bite.

The effect is immediate: he stills, jaw going slack for a second before he actually chews, like his brain needed a moment to catch up with what just happened.

It’s been a long time since food tasted like this—long enough that he’d stopped expecting it to. There’s no bitterness, no stale aftertaste, no underlying sense that he’s eating something just because it’s there. It’s warm, properly made, and unmistakably intentional in a way that most of what he consumes isn’t.

He swallows, then takes another bite.

And then another.

And another.

And another.

Somewhere along the way, the pace picks up without him noticing. His hand moves before he thinks about it, reaching back into the bag again and again, like something in him is trying to make up for something it’s been missing. And by the time he realizes it, he’s already halfway through and still reaching for more.

The door opens behind him.

Ashveil doesn’t turn around right away. He just takes another bite, slower this time, as if the interruption doesn’t quite register as urgent. He hears soft and light footsteps padding closer, and only glances over his shoulder after he swallows.

“…Mr. Ashveil,” Mister N calls. The Slumbernana Monkey stands in the hallway, small and still, holding a thin plastic bag filled with fruits that aren’t clearly bananas. His gaze shifts from Ashveil, to the food, and back to him again. “Where did you get the food?”

The detective hums softly, leaning his hip more firmly against the desk as he tilts his head back slightly to swallow. “Someone dropped by.”

“Someone did?”

“Mhm.” He taps the edge of the container with his fingers. “They were looking for the former president of Furbobo Weekly. Said they were a friend of hers and that they usually bring her food. I told them she doesn’t work here anymore.”

“Did you get their name?” Mister N asks.

Ashveil glances down at the half-finished meal. He shrugs. “I didn’t ask,” he says. “They left right after handing this over.”

His assistant’s eyes linger on him for a moment, his expression unreadable yet attentive. “And your stomach?” he asks after a beat.

Ashveil lets out a soft scoff. “It’s fine,” he says. There’s a slight pause before he adds, more honestly this time, “Better than fine actually.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” Ashveil says, glancing at Mister N with the faintest hint of dry amusement. “I haven’t died yet.”

A small silence settles between them.

After a moment, Ashveil lifts the container in a casual manner. “You want some?”

Mister N’s gaze lingers on the container, as if weighing the offer more seriously than expected. Then he gives a small, polite shake of his head.

“No,” he says. “You should finish it yourself.”

Ashveil studies him for a second, searching for any sign of hesitation or hidden interest, but finds none. Mister N simply steps further into the room and places the thin bag of fruit on top of the slightly open freezer.

“Suit yourself,” Ashveil mutters.

He shrugs it off easily and turns his attention back on the food. If anything, Mister N’s refusal seems to settle something in him—permission, maybe, to keep going without restraint.

So he does.

He digs in again. Bite after bite, steady and unthinking, until the world narrows down to taste and warmth and the simple act of eating. The room fades into the background—the clutter, the dim lighting, the hum of machinery—all of it blurring at the edges compared to what’s right in front of him.

Across the room, Mister N remains.

By the time the container is nearly empty, his pace finally begins to slow. He leans back slightly, exhaling through his nose as he looks down at what little remains.

He just stares at it briefly. Then, almost absently, he finishes the last bite. Ashveil rolls his shoulder, shifting his weight as he sets the empty container aside.

It’s not often that something lingers like this. Not just the taste—though that too—but the feeling of it. The care behind it. The fact that it hadn’t even been meant for him at all, and yet…

His gaze drifts, unfocused, toward the door.

You hadn’t stayed long. Had barely given him time to ask anything, really. No name, no details—just a bag of food and a hurried apology before disappearing down the hall like you were never there to begin with.

And still—

He wonders if he’ll get to see you again.

The thought comes easier than expected, settling somewhere in the back of his mind as he glances once more at the now-empty container and, briefly, to the side—at the bag of fruit resting untouched atop the freezer.

If he does…

Well—he’d have to say thank you. Properly, this time.

Since that day, Ashveil hasn’t seen you again. Not that he was looking—at least not in a way he’d willingly admit.

Days pass the same way they always do. Work comes and goes in irregular bursts, and the agency remains just as cluttered, just as dim, just as stagnant as ever. If anything changed, it’s subtle enough that he doesn’t bother naming it.

Still, every now and then, the memory resurfaces. A passing thought while he’s staring at nothing in particular. The faint recollection of warmth that doesn’t come from anything in the room. The taste of something that had no right being as good as it was.

It’s annoying, honestly, because it lingers.

It’s not enough to distract him—not enough to derail anything—but enough that, on occasion, he catches himself thinking that if did happen to run into you again, he’d say something. Just a quick acknowledgment, maybe. A simple thank you; tell you the food was good.

That’s all.

Which is probably why he wasn’t expecting for it to actually happen.

“Fresh air,” Mister N had said earlier. “It would be beneficial for your health.”

Ashveil had stared at him for a long while, unimpressed. Eventually, he left anyway.

Now he’s outside, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other rests loosely around the handle of his cane. His shoulders are slightly hunched, his stride unhurried, the cane more of an extension of habit than necessity as he walks with no real destination in mind.

The air feels different out here—less stale, less suffocating—but he wouldn’t go as far as to call it refreshing.

He follows the sidewalk without thinking too hard about it. People move around him in a steady flow—faces he doesn’t know, lives he doesn’t care about, all carrying on with a sense of purpose he doesn’t share.

And then, he slows.

And there you are.

Standing at the edge of the street, waiting for the stoplight to change. Grocery bags hang from both of your arms, the thin plastic stretched taut from the weight of whatever it is you bought. You shift slightly where you stand, attention fixed on the traffic passing by as you wait for your turn to cross.

Ashveil comes to stop a few steps behind you. For a moment, he just looks—like he’s confirming something.

You’re real. Not a trick of memory, not something his brain conjured out of boredom—you’re actually here, in the same space, close enough that if he wanted to, he could just walk up and—

…

He exhales softly through his nose. Right.

This is it then. The chance.

He straightens just a little, before finally closing the distance between you.

“Hello.” The word comes out casual, low, just enough to catch your attention without startling you. Your head turns at the sound of his voice.

Ashveil hadn’t really expected much—at most, a polite glance, maybe the brief confusion of someone trying to place a stranger. Instead, recognition settles in almost immediately, and he sees it happen. The slight widening of your eyes, the way your expression brightens like something just clicked into place—and then you’re looking at him properly.

It catches him off guard.

For a moment, he just stands there, his grip on the cane adjusting ever so slightly as the moment lands in a way he hadn’t prepared for. There’s a flicker of something in his chest—light and unexpected—and he can’t quite pin it down before it settles somewhere deeper.

Flattering, he realizes. Weirdly so.

He hadn’t thought he left much of an impression. Your interaction had been brief, barely anything worth remember on your end—or at least that’s what he assumed. People don’t usually hold onto things like that. And yet here you are, looking at him like you’re genuinely glad to have recognized him.

It does something to his stomach, an unfamiliar flutter that makes him shift.

He frowns faintly to himself, already dismissing it. Probably just hunger. It makes sense—you did give him food, after all. It’s only natural to associate you with that.

“Hello!” you greet him, voice warm despite the noise of the traffic. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

For the first time since he met you, Ashveil smiles. “Thank you for the food last time,” he says. “That was the first time in a while that I’ve had such good food.”

There’s a flicker of surprise across your face before it melts into something else, something almost shy, and then you laugh—light, a little flustered, like you don’t quite know what to do with the compliment. “I’m glad you enjoyed my cooking!”

Ashveil watches the way you react, the way your grip shifts on the plastic bags hanging from your arms, and his gaze briefly drops to them. The thin handles dig int your fingers slightly where the weight pulls down, and you adjust them again without really thinking about it. He frowns just a little.

He lifts a hand, pointing at the bags. “Do you need help carrying those around?”

You shake your head almost immediately. “Oh, there’s no need! I can handle just fine!”

There’s no hesitation in your voice, no sign that you’re struggling in a way you’d admit, but Ashveil doesn’t look convinced.

“I insist,” he replies. “Here—let me.”

Before you can properly protest, he steps out and reaches out, sliding the bags off your arms in one smooth motion with his free hand—the other still occupied with his cane. The shift in weight is immediate, the pressure gone before you can brace against it.

“Wait—” you start, a little startled, your hands hovering awkwardly. “You don’t really have to. I mean— I don’t want to trouble you.”

Ashveil adjusts his grip on the bags, barely sparing them a glance as he settles them comfortably at his side.

“You’re not troubling me,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “If anything, you can think of this as payment for the food last time.”

“But you don’t need to anything to return the favor,” you insist, brows knitting slightly as you look at him. “I gave it to you because I wanted to, not because I expected anything back.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m choosing to do it.”

You open your mouth like you’re about to protest again, but the words don’t quite come out this time. “…okay,” you relent, reluctant. “If you’re really sure.”

“I am.”

The stoplight changes from green to red, the steady stream of cars slowing to a halt, and once the moment it’s safe, the crowd begins to move, carrying you and Ashveil along with it as you step off the curb and into the crosswalk.

For a while, the two of you walk quietly, your pace naturally adjusting to match his, but it doesn’t take long before the silence gives way to something easier.

Ashveil glances at you. “Your friend,” he starts, casual. “Did you find out where she might’ve moved?”

There’s a small shift in your expression—something brighter. “I did, actually,” you say. “She apparently forgot to tell me about it. I’ve started bringing her food again like before, so… she’s eating properly now.”

Ashveil hums. “Good,” he says. “I’m glad you found her.”

You smile at that, and the conversation continues from there without much effort. He asks what you do, and when you tell him you’re a chef, he isn’t surprised.

“That explains a lot,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

You laugh lightly. When you turn the question back on him, he doesn’t hesitate.

“I’m a detective,” he says.

“Oh.” You blink, clearly intrigued. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

The details that follow are sparse, but it’s enough to keep the conversation going—small exchanges, bits of curiosity traded back and forth. By the time you reach your apartment building, it almost feels the walk passed quicker than it should have.

You lead him upstairs, the familiar surroundings closing in as your unlock the door and step inside, holding it open for him as he follows you in. The space is modest but lived-in.

“Just set them down in the kitchen counter, please,” you say.

Ashveil nods once and does exactly that, placing the bags down with care.

For a second, he just stands there. Then, as if remembering himself, he shifts his weight back, hand adjusting around the handle of his cane.

“I’ll take my leave now,” he starts, already turning slightly toward the door. “Thanks for—”

“Wait!”

He pauses, turning around.

You hesitate only briefly before continuing, fingers fidgeting together for a moment as you glance at him. “Would you… like to stay for lunch?”

Ashveil smiles. “You’re very kind,” he says. “But are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

You shake your head immediately.

“Oh, no, not at all!” you insist, words tumbling out before you can slow them down. “I really don’t mind, I promise! I actually like cooking for other people more than just for myself, and it’s not like I had anything else planned anyway, and you did help me carry all of those groceries—which you really didn’t have to, by the way—and you said you liked my food last time, so— so it’s kind of like I’m just, um, returning the favor? I think?”

He considers your words quietly, gaze lingering in a way that suggests he’s weighing more than just the offer itself.

“Alright,” he says, and your face brightens almost instantly, the shift in your expression so quick and genuine that it’s hard to miss.

“Really? Okay— great!” you say, already turning toward the kitchen with renewed energy. “You can just make yourself at home! I’ll, um— I’ll start on the food.”

Ashveil nods. He doesn’t wander far. Instead of taking a seat somewhere in the living room, he steps over the kitchen island and settles there, positioning himself just off to the side where he won’t be in your way.

From there, he watches.

You move about your kitchen, pulling ingredients from bags and cabinets and the refrigerator, setting things down with a familiarity that suggests you’ve done this a thousand times over.

You’re meticulous, he thinks. Your hands move with certainty as you wash, peel, and cut—your knife gliding through ingredients with practiced ease as if it already knows where it’s meant to go before it gets there. Nothing is rushed, but nothing is wasted either.

And you look comfortable—like this space was made specifically for you or maybe the other way around.

Ashveil admires it. The passion, the ease, the care you put into something as simple—but also not simple at all—as making a meal. It’s different from anything he’s used to, and he finds himself drawn to it in a way that doesn’t feel forced.

At one point, you lift a wooden spatula from the pan, bringing it up to your lips to taste. Your shifts almost immediately after—your eyes light up and a pleased smile forms like you’ve just confirmed something you were hoping for.

Ashveil watches that too.

And he assumes that’s all it is—that you’ll go back to cooking, or maybe take another taste for good measure. So when you repeat the motion, lifting the spatula again, he thinks nothing of it. At least not until you turn and extend it toward him.

He blinks, momentarily caught off guard, his gaze shifting from the spatula to your face, where you’re looking at him expectantly.

“…you want me to have a taste?” he asks, almost dumbly. You nod.

There’s a brief pause before he leans forward slightly, accepting the offer without further question.

The moment it hits his tongue, everything else falls away.

The flavor is immediate and overwhelming in the best possible way, rich and layered and warm in a way that feels almost surreal—like his senses weren’t prepared for something like this and are now scrambling to catch up.

It’s not just good. It’s— it’s—

Ashveil stills.

For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t even fully process that fact that he’s already swallowed, because his mind is too busy trying to reconcile how something so simple can taste like this.

If there’s such a thing as paradise—he thinks distantly—then this must be it. Because wow.

“What do you think?” you ask, eyes bright with anticipation. “Do you like it?”

Like it? The thought echoes in his mind, almost incredulous. Like isn’t even enough of a word—not even close, not something that could possibly hold the weight of what he just tasted—because it feels like trying to contain something vast inside something far too small.

He loves it.

It’s almost absurd, really—how something can taste this good, how you’ve managed to take what he already thought was the best meal he’d had in years and somehow surpass it. The first time he tasted your cooking, it had already felt like a rare exception, a one-time thing he wasn’t expecting to experience again. And yet here you are, proving him wrong in the span of a single taste.

“I do,” he finally says, though even that feels like an understatement. There’s a brief pause before he exhales softly, something almost like disbelief slipping through.

“It’s…” he starts, then stops, brows furrowing slightly as if he’s searching for the right word and finding none that quite fit. “…better than the last one.”

Which, considering everything, says more than it should.

“Is that even possible…?” he mutters, more to himself than you.

You fluster almost immediately under the weight of his attention, the way his gaze lingers making you take a small step back, a shy laugh slipping past your lips.

“I’m so happy you like this one as well!” you say, a little breathless, a little embarrassed, but unmistakably pleased. “I can’t wait to finish cooking so you enjoy it in its full glory!”

Before Ashveil can respond, you’ve already turned back to the stove, slipping right back into your rhythm like nothing happened—like his reaction didn’t settle somewhere warm and lasting beneath your ribs.

His gaze drifts briefly to the pan, then back at you.

Me too, he muses.

He can’t wait to eat.

Ashveil doesn’t realize how much he’s eaten until there’s barely anything left.

The plate in front of him is nearly empty, reduced to scattered remnants that wouldn’t even qualify as a proper serving anymore. He leans back slightly, gaze lingering on what’s left.

…Right. He could finish it. Easily.

The thought comes without hesitation because there’s no doubt about it—if he wanted to, he could clear the plate in seconds. There’s no fullness weighing him down in any way, no real resistance from his body that would stop him. If anything, there’s still that lingering pull, that subtle urge to keep going, to chase the taste just a little longer. But—

His eyes flick up briefly, landing on you. You’re still eating, slower than he had been. He looks back at his plate.

He’s already had three servings. That’s… more than enough. Without much ceremony, he sets his utensil down and nudges the plate just a fraction away from himself. That’s where it ends.

He knows he wants more. He also knows he doesn’t need it. And—more importantly—he doesn’t want to look greedy.

The thought is faintly amusing, enough that the corner of his mouth twitches just slightly. It’s not something he usually concerns himself with—appearances, impressions, any of that—but here, now, sitting across from you with the aftertaste of something genuinely good still lingering on his tongue… It matters. A little.

Besides, you should eat too.

Eventually, the plates are cleared, the conversation—whatever remains of it—settles into something softer until it naturally reaches its end. Ashveil rises not long after, adjusting his grip on his cane as he prepares to leave.

“Thank you for the meal,” he says, voice low but genuine. “It was very good.”

That feels insufficient. It is insufficient. But for now, it’ll have to do.

He turns toward the door, already expecting that to be the end of it—the natural conclusion to something that, realistically, shouldn’t have extended this far to begin with.

“Wait—”

He pauses mid-step. There’s a brief beat before he turns back, brows lifting ever so slightly in quiet question.

You hesitate, just for a second, before speaking. “Do you want to take some food home?”

Ashveil blinks. “…home?” he echoes, like the concept needs a moment to settle.

You nod, already moving toward the kitchen. “There’s still plenty left,” you explain, voice a little quicker now, like you’re trying to justify it before he can refuse. “And you said you liked it, so I figured—”

“You don’t have to do that.”

You pause, glancing back at him.

“I’ve already had more than enough,” he continues. “Three servings is—” he huffs lightly, almost amused under his breath, “—generous, to say the least.”

“That’s fine,” you insist. “I made a lot on purpose.”

There’s no hesitation in your expression, no polite obligation dressed up as generosity—just something straightforward and sincere, offered without expectation. It makes refusing feel unnecessarily difficult

“…still,” he starts, though there’s less conviction behind it now, “I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not.”

You’ve already started packing the food before he can argue further, moving with that same easy decisiveness he’d noticed earlier, like this outcome had been decided the moment the thought crossed your mind.

“…alright,” he relents.

By the time you return, handing him the neatly packed container, he takes it without further protest, his fingers brushing briefly against yours in the exchange.

“…thank you,” he says.

You walk him to the door after that.

He adjusts the container in his hand, already calculating how long it’ll last, how best to portion it, how Mister N will probably—

“You can come back whenever, you know.”

Ashveil pauses.

“I don’t mind cooking for you.”

He stills, before turning his head slightly, just enough to look at you.

You don’t seem to think much of it. To you, it’s probably just a polite offer—something said out of kindness, out of habit, out of the same easy generosity that led you to hand him food in the first place. But to him, it doesn’t land lightly.

Come back whenever.

Ashveil’s grip tightens around the container in his hand. He could brush it off. Treat it like nothing. Let it pass the same way most things do. That would be the easier option.

Except—

“…I’ll take you up on that offer.”

© 2026 kominigiru.

end note: ashveil when he tasted mc’s cooking for the first time:

He said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, that you felt stunned by the sheer audacity that he was absolutely right. You turned back to your dough, attacking the next ball with more force than strictly necessary. “I absolutely mean it. Go away. Be the Firelord somewhere else. I have work to do.”

You heard him move closer. He stopped right behind you, close enough that you could smell the faint smoke-and-ember scent that always clung to him, like a hearthfire banked for the night.

“You’re doing the rolls wrong,” he murmured.

You had to suck in a deep breath to keep yourself from rolling your eyes to the back of your head.

“I am not.”

“You are. You’re making them too small. The one on the end is going to burn.”

You looked down at your perfectly shaped, uniformly sized rolls. They were fine. They were perfect. You had been making these exact rolls for seven years, and he had never once—not once—thanked you for making them, and now he wanted to criticize?

You picked up no more than a palm of flour and threw it at him.

Zuko could’ve dodged. He knew what was coming. He’d dodged worse things than flying flour—fire, knives, and the occasional well-aimed shoe from his friends. But he didn’t dodge. He stood there and let the flour hit him square in the chest, a puff of white dust blooming across the dark silk of his formal robe.

He looked down at himself. Then back at you.

“That,” he started, “was a three-hundred-year-old ceremonial robe. And perfectly good flour went to waste.”

“Good,” you huffed. “Maybe it’ll teach you not to critique my baking.”

He brushed at the flour, succeeding only in smearing it around. 

“You’re so childish.”

“Childish? I’m not the one who sneaks into the kitchen at midnight to steal vegetables and complain about portion sizes.”

“I wasn’t complaining. I was merely stating my opinion.”

“Opinion that I did not ask for, Firelord.”

Zuko frowned at the title. You knew just how to get him to sulk and pout.

“I was being helpful.”

You made a sound of pure, undiluted exasperation. “You don’t know the first thing about cooking besides the basics, Zuko.”

“I also know how to make tea.”

“That doesn’t count.”

Zuko’s mouth pressed into a thin line—the one that meant he was trying not to smile and failing miserably. He looked ridiculous, standing there in his flour-dusted ceremonial robes with a half-eaten radish in one hand, hair loose that pooled behind his back, his cheeks flushed with something that might have been embarrassment or might have been the warmth of the kitchen.

You ignored the incessant feeling that clawed at your chest. Maybe it was the exhaustion getting to you.

“Sit down,” you sighed. “If you’re going to be in my way, at least be in my way sitting down.”

Zuko sat. He always sat, eventually. That was the thing about these midnight visits—he, for all the power he had as Firelord, was utterly compliant when it came to you. 

You finished shaping the rolls in silence, your hands moving automatically, your mind somewhere else entirely. You could feel him watching you with something that you knew all too well. Something that had been there for so long you’d stopped questioning it.

“You look tired,” he said, finally.

“I look like I’ve been cooking for fourteen hours,” you replied. “Which I have.”

“You should sleep more.”

“I could, but the prep wouldn’t finish all of this, now would it?”

“I hired a lot of people in the royal kitchen for you not to do all of this.”

“Well, I like doing all of this my way,” you hummed. “It helps when I’m alone. Have you eaten?”

He didn’t answer. That was answer enough.

You sighed, reaching for a covered dish by the pantry. You set the dish in front of him with a spoon.

“It’s still warm.”

Zuko looked at the noodles. “You saved these for me?”

“I saved them for the compost,” you noted flatly. “You just happened to be here.”

He ate them. All of them. 

“(Name),” he said once he finished.

“Don’t,” you said, because you knew that tone. You’d heard it a hundred times, in a hundred different ways, and you weren’t ready for whatever was coming next.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say something that’s going to make this weird.”

Zuko huffed. “I’m not going to make it weird.”

“You’re always going to make it weird. You have a gift.”

He frowned—not his angry frown, but the one that crinkled the unscarred side of his face and made him look softer. “I was just going to say thank you.”

“For the noodles?”

Oh. That was new.

“For… everything. For being here. For putting up with me.” He gestured vaguely at the kitchen, at the flour on his robes, at the half-eaten radish now on a clean tray.

“For all of this.”

You felt your throat tighten. You turned back to the dough, even though the rolls were already finished and covered and ready to just set. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job.”

“It’s not your job to throw flour at me.”

“That part’s a bonus,” you told him smugly. “Perks of being employed by the Firelord, I guess.”

There was something in the air; you were sure of it. It could be the dust motes or the warmth of the fire burning until it reaches its last embers.

Something that you were scared to address because you didn’t want to ruin what you already had.

“You’ve got flour on your face,” Zuko said.

“So do you.”

“No, I mean—” He stood up, crossed the few steps between you, and before you could react, his hand was cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing gently across your cheekbone, wiping away the streak of flour you’d forgotten about.

His hand was warm. They were always warm, firebenders—Zuko especially, like a banked coal that never quite went out. But this warmth was different. This warmth was certain. His thumb lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and his eyes—those impossible, burning gold eyes—were fixed on yours, and you swore you forgot how to breathe.

“There,” he murmured. “Got it.”

You should have stepped back. You should’ve deflected and went back to familiar territory. That was the dance you and him had been doing for seven years—push and pull, bicker and banter, never quite crossing the line into whatever lay beyond.

But you didn’t step back. And he didn’t let go.

“Zuko,” you said, and his name came out wrong—too breathless—like the longing you tried so hard to bury had finally resurfaced.

“(Name),” he replied, and there was something in his voice you’d never heard before. Something that sounded like fear, like hope, like the moment before a flame catches.

It’s something. And that something was both terrifying and something that you now wanted to name. To acknowledge and finally be honest.

“You should go,” you whispered, but you didn’t mean it, and he knew it.

“I know,” he said, and didn’t move.

His hand was still on your face. His thumb was still tracing slow, absent patterns on your cheekbone. You could feel the calluses on his fingers—sword calluses, firebending calluses, the hard-won scars of a boy who’d had to fight for everything he’d ever gotten. 

“If you’re going to kiss me,” you started, because you had gotten tired of waiting and because you’d never been good at keeping your mouth shut, “you should probably do it before I change my mind.”

Zuko’s breath caught. You thought you’d misread everything—thought you’d finally pushed too far, broken the fragile thing between you with your bluntness and your sharp tongue and your inability to just let things be.

Then he kissed you. Soft and chaste. You swore that feeling in your chest had never been happier.

You broke apart eventually, foreheads resting together, breathing the same warm kitchen air. Zuko’s hands had moved to your waist, his fingers curled into the fabric of your apron like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“That was—” he started.

“Seven years overdue,” you finished, smiling.

He laughed. “I was going to say ‘nice.’”

“It was nice,” you agreed. “But you can do better.”

His eyes widened, settling upon the realization. “Is that a challenge?”

“It’s an observation.”

“You and your observations.”

“You and your—mmph!”

He kissed you again, rude to not have let you finish, and this time it wasn’t shy at all. The dough lay forgotten for a while, but that’s okay; you’ll have the Firelord’s help to help you remake another batch.