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You can’t help but roll your eyes. Part of you has been raring for a fight since you got here, even if you washed up on shore half-dead only a few days ago. It’s a genetic thing, probably, but you need to keep busy so you don’t think about what you’ve done—about your brother. Lee is never going to forgive you. 

Finally, you plant your foot on top of the rock. This skirt is still taking some getting used to, but it’s pretty—and if you could burn down a house in one, you can probably fight in one. “I just don’t get how you’re all able to do this.” 

“Because we spend the rest of our time running and fighting for our lives, thanks to you,” Katara says. “Besides, your ribs haven’t finished healing yet. Rest is what you need right now.” 

“You’ve done like, three healing sessions. How are they not good yet?” 

“Did you forget when I said the sea nearly killed you?” she asks. “It takes a lot to fix that.”

“Am I fixed yet?” 

“I don’t even think I could fix you,” she says wryly. 

You huff a laugh. Her barbs don’t have much sting when she saved your life a few days ago. “Thanks.” 

Sokka scrambles to his feet in the corner of your vision, and he grins when you focus on him. “If you need something to do, wanna go out into town again? Katara hates this money, so I figure we should spend it all.” 

“What goes on in that brain of yours?” his sister asks. 

“Nobody knows,” Sokka says, shining eyes never leaving yours. You can’t help but smile, though you quickly bite it back with an exasperated sigh. 

“I guess shopping’s better than sitting around doing nothing.” 

-

Sokka is more scatterbrained than you expect. 

When you were with Azula, you never won a single fight against him. You didn’t think he was cool or calculated, but his intelligence was the most obvious thing about him behind his looks—which is just an observation, not a confession. 

Here, though, his brain can hardly move faster than his mouth. Sokka is a tornado in motion, dragging you along from place to place as he rambles about whatever’s in his mind. 

While he’s trying on new shoes, he tells you about the day they found Aang—and the first time he realized how powerful his sister was. Between trips to get cups of water after Sokka tries your extra, extra, extra spicy udon, you tell him about the day you met Azula. When you end up at the post office, Sokka tells you to wait outside—but when he comes out, he is not alone. 

You push yourself up from the wall. “You can’t be serious.” 

“What? I’ve been wanting a way to send letters home—”

“So you bought a dragon hawk?” you marvel. 

“I bet you used them all the time!” Sokka exclaims. The hawk perched on his shoulder looks as unamused as you are. “You should know better than any of us how useful they are!” 

“Have you ever used a messenger hawk before?” 

“...No,” he admits. “But it can’t be that difficult to figure it out, right?” 

You look over at the roosting tower with a sigh. Lee had an unhealthy obsession with dragon hawks when you were kids until one nearly scratched his eye out—and even then, you still think he would’ve become a falconer if he didn’t pick up arrows first. It’s almost identical to the one at your father’s training camp, but you bet these hawks actually get the chance to deliver their letters. 

Your lips twist. Your father hid those letters and lied to your face for years with a straight face. Is he lying to you about other things? Hiding things from you? 

The thought is unnerving. 

“You think a lot.”

You start as Sokka speaks, then you huff and look away. 

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“I can imagine,” he says. “Do you regret betraying your nation yet?” 

“Why do you have to keep saying it like that?”

“Because it’s true.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

Sokka shakes his head, brows creasing. You feel static on the back of your neck every time he looks at you like that. “Why do you want to be loyal to them so badly?” 

“It’s not loyalty—”

“Then what is it?”

 “It just— it just is.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Sokka says. 

You cross your arms. “Then maybe you should stop asking about it.”

Sokka continues to look at you, like he’s trying to figure out exactly what you’re thinking, but you know it won’t work. You’ve gotten good at controlling your emotions after so much time at the palace.

His eyes eventually flit away and your shoulders relax, but then you see him frown. 

“Oh no.”

“What?”

He doesn’t answer right away as he walks towards a very full bulletin board, with fliers and advertisements and wanted posters. You recognize the Deserter and the Blue Spirit—but Sokka tears off a different one, and your eyes widen when he holds it out.

It’s your wanted poster. You recognize the painted likeness from your first and only portrait as a family of four—perfect and prim dressed in the most regal robes possible, wearing your family sigil with pride. But you barely recognize that girl as yourself anymore. 

“Oh no is right,” you say faintly. 

“You’ve been gone for like, three days,” Sokka says incredulously. “How is this already here?”

“My father.” A sinking feeling weighs in your chest. “He moves fast when he wants to.” 

The poster very carefully avoids mentioning your betrayal, just offers a rather large reward for your return to the Fire Nation. 

You know your fate if a bounty hunter manages to find you out here. You turn back to the board as you work to suppress your nausea, but you only find another problem. 

“That kinda looks like your earthbender friend,” you say, pointing at a poster. It’s a crude drawing of a very angry girl with sharp teeth and her hair tied up. It’s honestly pretty accurate. 

“Yeah, that’s definitely Toph.” Sokka sighs. “Two out of five isn’t bad. At least Aang’s isn’t up anymore now that everyone thinks he’s dead.”

You tear down the poster and huff. “They’re calling her the runaway, and there’s a pretty big bounty on her head.”

“Well, they’re calling you…” Sokka shakes his head as he continues looking at the poster, then he frowns. “Hey, what does this say?” 

“You can’t read it?” 

“No, I can, it’s just—” he pauses as you come to his side and he points at the line of characters below your painting. “I think I’m translating it wrong. It’s calling you Prince Zuko’s betrothed.” 

Your face heats as you cough and look away, and Sokka’s jaw drops. “You’re kidding!” 

“I was trying to figure out a way—” 

“You’re engaged to Zuko?” he cries.

“We can’t talk about this here,” you whisper-yell. You snatch the poster out of his hands and start moving, Sokka on your heels until you reach a quiet alleyway. 

He looks at you expectantly, and you sigh and check one more time to make sure you’re alone before you lay back against the wall. 

“It wasn’t my choice, first of all. The Fire Lord just threw it on us when we got back from Ba Sing Se.” 

“You go against the Fire Lord all the time!”

“No, I don’t— and be quiet!” you bite. “Do you want us to get found out?”

Sokka huffs, but he’s quieter when he speaks this time. “So you like him.”

“No!”

“You’re engaged to him!”

“That doesn’t mean we like each other!” you insist. “Haven’t you ever heard of an arranged marriage?”

Sokka crosses his arms. “I don’t have a great track record with them.” 

“Well, I’m sorry,” you emphasize, “but it doesn’t mean anything. It didn’t go anywhere when we were engaged as kids, and it won’t go anywhere now.”

“You’ve been engaged to Zuko twice?”

“Why does it matter?” you question. 

You and Sokka both stare at each other for a good five seconds before he shrugs. “It doesn’t.”

“Then why are you so upset about it?”

“I’m not!” 

“Then I guess we’re all settled,” you say. Sokka rolls his eyes and looks away. 

“Whatever.”

“We should get back to camp,” you say. “We’ve been gone for too long anyways, and I don’t want your sister to get on my case.” 

“She’s just protective,” Sokka says. “And she has a good reason for it, with the stuff we do.” 

“Well, she already doesn’t like me,” you say. “Could you… not tell her about this?” 

“You want to keep the biggest secret in the world from my sister that hates you?” 

“I don’t want her to hate me more!” 

“She’ll hate you more if you keep secrets from her,” he says. 

“I just don’t think now is the time,” you insist. “I— I’ll tell them all eventually, I just don’t want to do it now. Is that enough for you?” 

“...Fine,” Sokka says. “But it has to be by the end of the week, or I’m telling them myself.” 

You nod. “Deal.” 

“Fine,” he repeats. He stares at you for a little longer and you crack a wry smile. 

“Are we gonna go?” 

Sokka blinks and nods again. “Yes. Yes— yeah. Yeah.” 

“...So go.” 

“Right!” 

You can’t fully bite back your smile as Sokka begins walking with a purpose, you close behind him. The silence is surprisingly comfortable.

He’ll keep your secret. 

-

As you and Sokka make your way back to camp, you find yourselves talking to fill the gaps, and meandering to lengthen the walk. You don’t want the conversation to end—the way that Sokka shuffles backwards so he can keep looking at you while you walk and talk, you think he doesn’t either. 

The closer you get, though, the louder you hear… crashing. No—clashing, like rocks scraping up against each other times a thousand. The ground rumbles in the distance, and you look at Sokka in confusion. 

“Please tell me you hear that too.” 

“Relax,” Sokka chuckles. “Toph and Aang are probably practicing earthbending.”

“That’s a lot of noise for someone trying to stay hidden,” you say. 

“We do it all the time,” he says. “C’mon, we’re almost there.” 

You climb up some boulders and hop across a stream to make it back to camp, and you see they are indeed earthbending. Katara’s eyes flick up to see you both from where she’s sitting by a boiling cauldron before she looks away. 

It’s almost mind boggling how such tiny kids are capable of such powerful bending. Sure, you’re only a few years older than them, but Aang is the Avatar. He’s responsible for saving the entire world from the war your nation started, and he’s got entire militaries trying to stop him. 

You still can’t really understand why he’s so kind to you. The world would probably be a better place if you drowned that night. 

“You guys are finally back!” 

You come back into yourself to see Aang hopping down from a rock with a grin, Toph following him with less excitement.

“Did you buy anything cool?” she asks. 

“Uh, did I buy anything cool— of course I did!” Sokka brandishes the hawk on his arm with a grin, and his sister does not look amused. 

“Don’t tell me you bought a bird.” 

“He is a messenger bird, and his name is Hawky,” Sokka says sagely. “Now we can send letters all over the world! Even to Gran Gran!” 

“Wow, how does it work?” Aang asks. 

Sokka glances at you, and you huff a laugh. “Dragon hawks are trained for years by skilled falconers before they’re able to carry messages. They follow specific routes that you know absolutely nothing about.” 

Sokka scoffs as his sister snorts, and he shoots you a dirty look. “It’s not that hard.”

You smile sweetly. “Try it then.” 

He grins at his hawk and points towards the sky. “Hawky! Gran Gran, South Pole!” 

The dragon hawk just squawks, and Katara sighs. “What a waste of money.” 

“I think he gets it,” Sokka says. 

A squeal draws your attention back to Aang, and a lemur you didn’t even notice before lunges off his shoulder over at the hawk, and Sokka sputters as they chase each other around his head. 

“Hawky, make nice! Bad Hawky!” He shouts your name as he screws his eyes shut. “Do something!” 

You just sigh and whistle two short blasts, followed by a longer, more shrill sound. The dragon hawk immediately stops and flies over to your arm, landing on your golden cuff to protect you from its talons. 

“See?” Sokka says, slightly dazed. The lemur climbs onto his head and sits like a king now that he has no one to tussle with. “Easy.” 

Aang laughs and holds out his arm. “Momo, can you do it too?” 

The lemur jumps off Sokka’s head and onto Aang’s arm, and he grins as he gives him head scratches. “Good job, Momo. You’re so talented.” 

“How’d you learn how to do that?” Katara asks. She still has that hard edge to her voice that you think only comes out when she’s talking to you, but her gaze isn’t as accusing. 

“I went to a very prestigious academy,” you say. “We learned everything from history to combat, including falconry basics. Traditionally trained messenger hawks respond to that call,” you smile as you hook a finger beneath his beneath to give him scratches, “so I bet we’ll have no problem helping you become the best to ever fly through these skies, isn’t that right?”

You feel their eyes on you from your cooing, and you clear your throat. “Sorry. I like dragon hawks.” 

“So you got your skills from a fancy school,” Toph says. 

“And a lot of time around Zuko and Azula,” you say wryly. “You adjust quickly at the palace. There’s no other choice.”

“Kinda sounds the same to how I learned.”

“At a palace?”

“From badgermoles.”

“What?” 

“I still can’t believe you grew up in the palace,” Aang says, but you’re still staring at Toph. She does not stare back, as she is blind. 

“Yeah,” Sokka nods. “You’re way less preppy than I expected you to be.”

You frown, finally looking away from Toph once it’s clear she’s not going to make that make sense. “Why would I be preppy?”

“You’re basically a princess—”

“I am not.”

“—and Katara and I are kinda royalty too—”

“We are not!” 

“—so we know what it’s like, how hard it is to be humble.”

“I’m embarrassed to be related to you.” 

“You’ve already used that line, so it has no effect.” Sokka looks back at you. “I thought you would be stuck-up, basically.” 

You tap the dragon hawk on his beak and watch as he flies off your arm over to a rock near the sky bison. It takes an additional moment for you to gather your thoughts. 

“I didn’t have much time for anything other than training,” you say. “My father demands the best of us. My brother Lee is a Yuyan archer—”

“Those guys captured me!” Aang exclaims. 

Sokka frowns. “When were you captured by archers?” 

Katara’s glare at you is sharp enough to kill. “Your brother captured Aang?” 

“We don’t need to worry about it!” Aang says hastily, and his cheeks flush red as he looks back at Katara. “I— I’m fine. Nothing happened. Sorry.” 

“You’re not getting out of this,” Katara says, and somehow he blushes even harder.

“Lee’s the only nonbender in my family, so he’s had to work even harder than me,” you continue. “And then there’s Kezu. He…” 

You shift from foot to foot as you try to conquer the sudden wave of nausea. You’re barely able to think of your eldest brother without crying. “He was promoted to commander right before…” 

You try and fail to swallow the dread. Sokka and Aang’s concern makes you itch—even Katara’s eyes soften. 

“Are you okay?” Aang asks gently. 

“Fine.” You force a quick smile as you clear your throat. “I— I’m gonna get some air.” 

“But we’re already outs—” Sokka starts, but you don’t hear the rest of it as you hurry away, face burning. 

What are you thinking, showing such weakness in front of your enemies? 

Sure, maybe they’re not your enemies enemies anymore—but you’re still theirs, you’re sure of it. How could you not be? You’ve done so many bad things to them, and even if you haven’t betrayed them, you’re still a traitor. If you can betray your princess, your best friends, then how could anyone ever trust you again?

Certainly not people as good as the Avatar and his team. 

…Not Sokka. 

The thought makes your head spin, and you stumble the last few steps down to the water. You let out a ragged sigh as you sink until your knees hit the ground, your reflection staring back at you.

Your hair is longer than it’s ever been. It drops just past your shoulder blades as you pull the pin out of your topknot, matted layers falling in tandem. You grimace. You need to get your hands on some camellia oil as soon as possible. 

You tilt the pin in your hand. The simple flame matches Sokka and Katara’s, a muted crimson rather than the shining gold that Zuko’s favor earned you. Right now, you don’t feel worthy of either. You don’t think you’ve ever felt less honorable in your life. 

“Hey.” 

You jolt, heart racing like a rabaroo as you turn around—and then your eyes widen when you see Toph. 

“...Hi,” you say, because you don’t really know what she’s doing here. 

“Come down here to sulk?” she asks. 

“Sorta.” A beat passes. “Come down here because your friends asked you to?”

Toph scoffs. “No one tells me what to do.” 

“Yeah,” you say with a slight smile. “I’ve noticed.” 

She stands there, blank gaze staring at the ground, and then you finally clear your throat. 

“Want to join me?” 

Toph doesn’t say anything, but she walks over and sits down next to you. She raises a finger and a tiny pebble flies into the air, then out across the water when she flicks it. The stone skips five times before sinking with a small splash. 

“You’re pretty good at that.” 

“Did you learn how to skip rocks at that fancy princess academy, princess?”

You huff. “I’m not a princess. I’m the daughter of a general that’s probably disowned me.” 

“Join the club,” Toph says wryly. “My dad kept me under lock and key until Aang showed up and gave me the strength to leave. Then he sent my old earthbending teacher and a wrestler to kidnap me and bring me home.” 

Your eyes widen. She’s only twelve and yet she’s beating adults twice, no probably five times her size, without breaking a sweat. “How’d you swing that?” 

“I invented metalbending,” she says. 

“...Obviously.”

“Yeah. You’re lucky you’re not on my bad side anymore.”

You frown and glance over at her. “I’m not?” 

“The Fire Nation hasn’t really hurt me,” Toph admits. “And you didn’t either.”

“I chased you across the whole Earth Kingdom.”

“And you did a pretty bad job at it.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“Anytime,” Toph smiles. 

She skips another few rocks, getting a longer run each time before you feel something hit your arm. You look down to see it’s one of the pebbles. 

“It’s your turn,” she says. 

“I didn’t actually learn this at the academy—”

“Somehow, I think you’ll survive.” She jabs her elbow into your side and you huff a laugh. “Now do it.” 

You throw it at the lake, a flick of your wrist, and it skips an astounding two times before the water swallows it up. 

“Great,” you say. “The blind girl is better than me at everything.” 

“Don’t feel bad. I’m better than most people at everything.” 

“And so humble, too.” 

“What’s the point in that?” 

“Well, how are you so good at earthbending?” It’s the question that has been bugging you since the first time you saw her, and it’s become incessant since you found out she was blind. “How are you so good at everything?” 

“I see using my earthbending,” she says, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard anything cooler. “I feel the vibrations in the ground, so I don’t even need my eyes. I can see better than anyone with eyes, really—I can feel every fire ant on this corner of the island. And that there’s a maggot slug right on your hand.” 

You look down to see one crawling over your fingers and scream as you throw it off. Toph dissolves into raucous laughter and you manage to crack a smile, hand still shaking. You hope those fire ants decide to stay far, far away from you. 

“So the badgermoles taught you that?” you ask. 

“Good memory,” she says with a nod. “Everyone underestimates me because they think I’m just a helpless blind girl. It would be more annoying if it didn’t work in our favor every single time.”

“That’s cool.” A beat passes and you pull your knees up to your chest, passing a glance at Toph. “You really don’t hate me?” 

Toph shrugs. “I’ve gotten to pummel you every time we’ve fought. How could I hate you?” 

Your laugh is actually something genuine. You’re eternally thankful for this hardheaded blind girl that is doing a pretty good job brute-forcing her way through life. 

“Maybe you can convince the others to feel the same way,” you say. 

“Oh please, they don’t hate you,” Toph says. “Aang’s too nice to hate anyone, Sokka’s heart speeds up every time he looks at you, and Katara saved your life—”

She keeps going, but you’re still stuck on the second one. You feel your face heat and you have the sudden urge to dunk your head in the water to stop it. Does that mean Sokka doesn’t hate you? Could he actually…

Spirits, could he actually like you? Like, want you to be his friend, kind of like? 

The thought is overwhelming. You haven’t made a friend since Zuko. Azula took up most of your time, and you hate all your father’s soldiers, and your brothers don’t count. Friends that don’t throw fire at you or threaten you into submission is a foreign concept. But it sounds really, really nice. 

You tune back into Toph when she elbows you again, and you rub the sore spot as she smiles at the ground. 

“—so you don’t have to worry, because Aang’s word is worth a lot here. Especially to Katara.” 

“I noticed that,” you say. “They’re pretty close, huh?” 

“Katara’s the one that found him, so I think they like to think they have a connection.” She shakes her head with a huff. “It all gives me oogies.” 

“I think it’s nice,” you say. “They’re sweet to each other.” 

“You’ve been here for a few days. It gets old after a few months.” 

You smile inwardly. “Thanks for coming down here, Toph. It was… really nice talking with someone like you.” 

“Someone totally cool?” 

“Someone I know won’t lie to me,” you say wryly. “But that too.” 

“No problem, princess,” she says. “Anytime you need to be taken down a peg, my door is open.”

You roll your eyes but your smile only grows. “You’re going to keep calling me that, aren’t you?” 

“You’re the best guesser I’ve ever met.”

-

The rest of the night goes by quickly enough—the next day does too, for that matter. Katara was kind enough to scrounge up a fifth bowl your first night spent consciously so you could eat dinner with them, and though it was weird at first, it’s not as bad now—especially after your talk with Toph. 

What she said about Sokka keeps popping into your head, though, and it takes everything in you to not glance over at him every chance you get. If anyone finds out that the thought of him makes your skin turn hot as magma, you think you’ll actually pass away. 

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, so naturally you decide to ignore it in the hopes it’ll go away. You’re just not used to someone being as nice as Sokka is to you without demanding something in return. That’s it. 

But they’re all warming up to you, it seems. Aang and Toph talk to you like you’re a normal person, Sokka is too nice to understand, and Katara isn’t openly suspicious of your every move anymore. Toph even makes you your own rock tent after Katara begrudgingly admits she doesn’t think you’ll run anymore. 

You don’t even know where you would go if you did. 

You’re thankful for it, though. The nightmares hit you in full force out here, and you have to wipe away tears when you wake up at the break of dawn. You barely get any sleep, but it’s nothing new. You manage. 

You always do. 

One afternoon, you’re laying on your back in the grass staring up at the sky. You used to cloud-watch with Ty Lee every perfect summer day, when they were at their fluffiest and you could lay in the grass for hours. You stopped when your father forgot the concept of free time—out here, you have nothing but. 

You sigh. Everything reminds you of what you left behind—who you betrayed. Katara and Aang are making lunch together after a session of waterbending, so at least they’re leaving you alone. But then you hear Katara scoff, and you glance over. 

Sokka Toph walk in together, each holding a sizable bag of gold pieces. Your eyebrows rise. They’re pretty good scammers—and Sokka’s hawk is surprisingly well behaved today. 

“Where have you two been?” Katara questions, planting her hands on her hips when she stands. “Off scamming again?” 

“Yes, we were,” Toph says. 

“And I suppose you don’t think what you’re doing is dangerous at all?”

Toph keeps her back turned. “No, I don’t.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, really.”

“Well, then.” Katara pulls out a rolled piece of paper from her waistband, and you freeze when it opens. “What’s this?”

“I don’t know!” Toph exclaims, motioning at her eyes. “I mean, what is it with you people? I’m blind!” 

“It’s a wanted poster of you!” Katara says. “The Runaway. Is that what you’re called now?”

Your eyes dart across the clearing to Sokka as she continues on, but he shakes his head. You frown, having no idea what it means, but he just shakes his head even harder. What does that  mean? Sokka gave Toph her wanted poster, and you kept your own, so if Katara has Toph’s, then she looked through Toph’s things. 

Did Katara look through your things too? Does Katara know you’re a runaway bride?

Katara’s shouts bring you back to reality. You get up and go over to where Sokka and Aang are sitting together to see Toph stomping away from an angry Katara. 

“Don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking to you!” she calls. 

“Oh really, Mom?” Toph mocks, turning. “What are you doing to do? Send me to my room?”

“I wish I could!” Katara exclaims. 

“Well, you can’t! Because you’re not my mom, and you’re not their mom.” She gestures over at the three of you.

“I never said I was!” 

“No, but you certainly act like it!” 

You shoot Aang a desperate look. “Do something!” 

His eyes widen as he lowers his voice. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re the Avatar! Bring peace to the world!”

—so stop acting like you can tell me what to do!” Toph is in the middle of saying, jabbing her finger at Katara. “I can do whatever I want!”

Katara stares at her. Her eyes dart away as she lowers her head for a second, and she looks unsure when she speaks. 

“I don’t act that way.” She looks at her brother. “Sokka, do I act motherly?” 

His eyes widen slightly as he raises his hands. “I’m staying out of this one.” 

“What do you think, Aang? Do I act like a mom?” 

You give him a look, and he shakes his head as he rubs his eye with one hand. “No, I—”

“Stop rubbing your eye and speak clearly when you talk!” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and Katara’s shoulders slump. 

“I bet I know what you’re gonna say,” she mumbles with a half-hearted glance at you. 

“You saved my life,” you say. “I don’t really have any right to tell you how to act.” 

Toph rolls her eyes and starts walking off. “I can’t be around you right now.” 

“Well, I can’t be around you!” Katara counters. She storms off in the opposite direction, leaving the three of you alone. 

Aang frowns. “Well, that could’ve gone better.”

Sokka’s hawk squawks and he sighs as he rests his arms on his knees. “I know, Hawky. Why can’t they just get along?” 

“Does this happen a lot?” you ask, looking in each direction. Toph has created another rock tent, and Katara is sitting by the stream with her shoulders hunched. 

“Not really,” Sokka says. “But Katara and Toph are the most stubborn people I know, so they always end up clashing like this every once and a while. They get over it pretty quickly.” 

Aang frowns. “Didn’t Toph leave the group last time they fought?”

“That’s because we were sleep deprived,” Sokka says, looking at you. “Thanks, by the way.” 

You nod. “Anytime.” 

“Well, what are we supposed to do now?” Aang questions. “I hate seeing Katara so upset—” 

“We know,” Sokka interrupts dryly. His eyes wander from his sister to his friend as he thinks, then his eyes light up. “Oh, I know! I’m gonna send Katara a note and say it’s from Toph, who wants to apologize, then everyone will be friends again.” 

Aang smiles. “I gotta say Sokka, you continue to impress me with your ideas.”

“Oh, can Toph write through her earthbending too?” you ask. “That’s impressive.” 

Sokka frowns. “...Can she write with her earthbending?” 

Aang sighs. “I can’t believe we forgot Toph couldn’t write.” 

“...Maybe you should just talk to them,” you say. “I think that’ll go better.” 

“Wow,” Aang says your name, “maybe you should be our new idea guy!” 

“Don’t even joke about that, Aang!” Sokka shouts, shooting to his feet. “I will go talk to Toph.”

You chuckle as Sokka walks over to where she’s sitting, and you glance over at Aang. “Think it’ll work?” 

“I hope so,” he sighs. “I just feel bad that we started this mess with our scams. Katara just wants to help, that’s all.”

“I can tell how much she cares about you all,” you say. “I know I’ve only been here for a few days, but I’ve gotten a lot of bruises from that care.” 

Aang chuckles and shakes his head. “We’ve been through a lot together. We almost die together every week, but we pull through. Katara and Toph fight, but they always make up. They love each other. We all do.” 

You sit in silence for a while as his words sink in. It’s so wildly different from your friendships, where what Azula says goes—and if you make her upset, then you’d better grovel at her feet before she starts shooting fire at you. It’s not really a hangout with Azula if someone doesn’t come away with scorch marks. 

“I have a question,” you say. 

“What is it?” Aang asks. 

You pause, shifting in your seat as you look over where Sokka and Toph are talking on a cliff. Katara walked off to the water, but you hope she’s doing okay. You lick your dry lips then manage to form the words.  

“Why’d you save me?”

He frowns. “Because you’re a human being.” 

“Come on,” you say. 

“You were a human being that needed help,” Aang says. “It doesn’t matter what you did to me. You needed help, so I helped you.” 

You shake your head, unable to look at him anymore. “But I don’t deserve that.” 

“Yes,” he says gently, “you do.” 

You tip your head back to the sky, hoping your tears will go back where they came from. “That’s not right, though. I— I didn’t earn it. I haven’t helped you at all.” 

“That’s not really how we operate here,” he says with a slight laugh. “We’re on a mission to save the world. Anyone we can help along the way is part of that mission. That includes you.” 

“I just don’t get it,” you say lowly. “Azula would kill you on the spot—”

“But you haven’t,” he interrupts. “And you won’t. And that’s what matters most, I think.” 

A tear breaks loose and Aang graciously doesn’t mention it when you finally manage to look at him. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “You’re kinder than I expected you would be.”

“I get that a lot.”

“And a lot younger,” you say. “You’re really only 12?” 

“112, actually,” he says. “But I’ve been told I don’t look my age.” 

You huff a laugh and Aang smiles. Toph and Sokka are making their way back by now, the sun steadily setting in the distance. 

“You have a place with us for as long as you want,” Aang says gently. “I hope you know that.” 

Your heart clenches a bit as you give him a small smile and a nod. You don’t know how you got lucky enough for the Avatar to be a young monk with endless empathy. 

-

The night passes quickly into the next day. Katara and Toph have set off on what she dubbed the ultimate scam, and Sokka has been pacing back and forth since they left. His sister is the only waterbender you’ve ever met, but you know she has to be one of the best out there—and you think Toph is maybe the best earthbender in the world. You don’t know what could possibly hurt them. 

But in the past hour, Aang has taken Sokka’s place, who’s too busy admiring his hawk as you clumsily stitch up a hole in your shawl. You’re too embarrassed to ask Katara, so you just learned by watching her from a distance and filling in the rest of the blanks. It’s going worse than expected. 

“Do you really think this scam of theirs should be taking this long?” Aang asks. 

“I was just wondering the same thing,” Sokka sighs. “We’d better check it out.”

He stands, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?” 

“Oh!” you exclaim. “I— I get to come too?” 

“Of course,” Sokka says. He looks down at his hawk and the flying lemur and jerks his thumb back at the sky bison. “Appa’s in charge.” 

Appa. So that’s his name. At least you now know who to curse for all those bruises. 

You break the thread from the spool and hurriedly tie a knot before you slip it over your shoulders and rush after Sokka and Aang. 

Soon enough you’re walking through a strangely deserted town, heads on a swivel as you search for their friends. 

“Where do you think they might be?” Sokka asks. 

“Where do you think anyone is?” Aang questions, spinning in a small circle as he looks out at the empty streets. Suddenly, you feel the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, and you stop right by the statue of Fire Lord Ozai. All you hear is the rush of fire from his fists.

“Guys—” 

“Watch out!” 

You barely process Aang’s shout before he’s airbending all three of you out of the way of an explosion—you drop to the ground and clamp your hands against your ears to try and protect yourself from the noise, but when Sokka’s mouth moves, you hear nothing but ringing. Cracked pieces of tile have flown all over and clouds of acrid black smoke fill the town square. 

Sokka grabs your wrist and pulls you behind the fire fountain with him and Aang, where you watch a half-metal man hop down from the rooftops. He crushes the street where he lands, inhales as he looks at the three of you, and then a beam shoots from a tattooed eye on his forehead. The three of you throw yourselves out of the way just before the spot you were standing explodes. 

Your eyes are watering from the smoke and a few projectile pebbles have embedded themselves in your skin, but when Sokka yells to run, you run. 

“This can’t be,” you pant to yourself as you race through the empty streets. “I— I thought they were myths!”

Sokka grabs your arm as you turn a sharp corner as the firebender continues pursuing you, blowing up the town behind you. One particularly strong explosion sends the three of you airborne—you and Sokka knock over a wheelbarrow, and he wraps his arms around you to shield you as you hit the ground hard. 

Sokka says your name frantically. “Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” you rush, and his eyes widen a bit. 

“Wow. You’re super warm.” 

“It’s a firebender thing!” 

Sokka helps you up as Aang joins you behind the upturned wheelbarrow, pushing his headband back into place. 

“Are you guys okay?” he questions desperately. 

“Not as good as this guy!” Sokka exclaims, moving his finger away from his forehead a few times. “He shoots fire from his brain! How can we beat that?” 

Aang says your name and they both look at you. “You’re from the Fire Nation— do you know how to beat him?” 

You huff an incredulous laugh. “I— I’ve read about it in school, but I always thought that it was just make-believe! There were stories about special firebenders who could shoot a concentrated blast of chi from their forehead—”

“Well, his chi feels pretty real to me!” Sokka exclaims. 

“We should split up,” Aang says. “He can’t chase all three of us.” 

You nod as Sokka groans. “You better not get blasted, Aang!” 

“As long as you don’t either.” 

The three of you break just before the wagon explodes, sending wooden shards flying all over. Your heart pounds in your ears while you run as fast as you can. You see Aang running nimbly across the rooftops, drawing the firebender’s ire away from you and Sokka—but then he slams against the statue fountain and falls to the ground. 

“Aang!” you cry out. 

You sprint towards the Avatar and the firebender, flipping with fire at your feet to send a powerful blast at him. He dodges and glares mutinously at you, about to blast you to smithereens—but then a huge block of ice encases his head, and he stumbles away from both of you.

You whip around to see Katara in a fighting stance with Toph and Sokka on either side, and you let out the biggest sigh of relief. 

“Get him up!” she yells. “We have to go!” 

You nod and hurry over to Aang to help him back to his feet, half-dragging half-carrying him along with you as you race to catch up to the group. You hear Toph cover your exit with a rock followed by a massive explosion, but it doesn’t hit you so you don’t really care. 

“Hey, wait!” Sokka shouts. “I have the perfect name for that guy— Combustion Man!” 

“Good job, Sokka,” Toph pants. “Now let’s get out of here before Combustion Man catches us.”

“See?” he grins as you turn a corner. “It fits so well!” 

You look down at Aang, whose keeping pace with you all surprisingly well for the beating he just took. “Are you okay? That was a nasty fall.”

“I’ll be fine,” he breathes with a wry smile. “Airbenders are light on our feet.” 

You roll your eyes but can’t help your own smile as you continue running for your life. You make it back to camp in record speed and throw everything haphazardly into bags, but when they’re all getting on Appa, you pause. 

“What are you doing?” Aang calls from Appa’s head as he gets the reins together. “We have to go!”

“I— I didn’t know if you’d want me to come with you,” you stammer. “I’m Fire Nation and—” 

“Who cares?” Toph interrupts. “Do you still want to be here when Combustion Man shows up for vengeance?” 

“You’re coming with us,” Sokka says, “end of story.” 

Your eyes flick over to Katara, who sighs after a long moment. 

“You’re a trail right to us if you stay here,” she says. “It’s easier for you to come.” 

“Seriously?” you ask, cautiously grateful. 

“Just get up here before Appa takes off without you.” 

You break into a grin, but you yelp as Toph thrusts her fist up and a portion of earth shoots you up into the air right into Appa’s saddle. You land on your hands and knees and stare at her. 

“What is your problem?” you gasp. 

“It’s faster,” she shrugs. 

“Yip yip!” Aang yells, and you grab onto the saddle as the bison takes off into the sky. You sputter as your hair blows into your face and mouth and eyes. 

“Welcome to the luxuries of a flying bison,” Sokka says smugly. “If you ever wondered why you couldn’t track us, this is why.” 

“What does everyone have against solid ground?” You decide to just deal with the hair in your eyes, too afraid of falling to your death without an iron grip on the saddle. “Sailing’s bad enough, but flying?” 

“Don’t worry, princess,” Toph says breezily. “If I can handle it, you can too.” 

“Yeah,” Katara says with a wry smile. “I thought you were some tough warrior, but you can’t even handle a little flying?” 

You groan. “How do you all do this every day?” 

“Flying is great!” Aang calls back. “And Appa is the safest bison this side of the skies. You have nothing to worry about."

It’s a surprise they haven’t kicked you out yet, honestly. You’re sure Aang’s word is the only thing keeping you here—and even then, you’re unsure why the Avatar himself is vouching for you after all you’ve done to him. 

Your thoughts go back to Azula and your shoulders sink. She doesn’t even know you left. It’s nothing but cowardice to hope you won’t see her again—and quite stupid to think Azula couldn’t track you to the ends of the earth if she wanted to.

Lost in thought, you almost don’t even notice that the grass is on fire from your past few moves until the flames lick your calves—you yelp and jump back, eyes wide. Not that it hurts, but that you’ve already started a fire—

And then a stream of water extinguishes the fire, splashing you in the process. You look up to see Katara bending it back into the waterskin that loops across her body, and your skin heats. 

“You’re going to burn this place down if you keep bending like that,” she says.

Her movements are cautiously confident as she comes to a stop a few feet from you, and you 

shake your hands out to cool them off, still catching your breath. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I— I got distracted. Obviously.” 

“How long have you been up for?” she asks. “I didn’t hear you leave.” 

“Just before dawn,” you say as you close your eyes. You press your palms together and exhale slowly to bring your body back to a more normal temperature. 

You used to break into fevers that lasted days after your most aggressive training sessions, which forced you to seek out better techniques, nicer ones—no one wants an easily winded soldier. You must be relentless even through fatigue. Iroh taught you some breathing techniques and you’ve been hating them ever since. 

She frowns. “I didn’t hear you wake up.” 

“Don’t feel bad. I have a lot of practice sneaking around.”

“I don’t feel bad,” she insists. “I just— the whole reason I made you sleep in my tent was so I’d hear if you tried something!” 

“I’m light on my feet,” you say. “I’m also not going to try anything.” 

Katara huffs and glances away. “Do you wake up at dawn every day?”

“Just about,” you say, finally opening your eyes. “That’s how my father trained me. And it’s even stricter in the palace.” You shake your head with a sigh. “All these years and I’m still not used to it.”

“...I get that,” Katara says. “I used to wake up in the middle of the night to practice waterbending.”

“I definitely don’t want to fight you on a full moon.”

She gives you a wry smile. “Zuko tried. He didn’t get very far.” 

The thought of Zuko makes your mood drop exponentially quicker. You left him just like you left Azula, his fiancee gone in the middle of the night. As much as you hate the title, you hate hurting Zuko. You despise hurting Azula, no matter how effortlessly you seem to do it. 

You hope they’re okay. 

Katara must notice, the way she clears her throat and tries to segue as smoothly as possible. 

“I think you’re better than Zuko anyways,” she says. “You and Azula are some of the strongest benders I’ve ever met, mostly behind all the Avatars that Aang has summoned.”

Your eyes widen a bit. Every new thing you learn about this child Avatar’s incredible power makes you more and more thankful he’s a monk. How have you only gotten away from your fights with bruises?  

“Well, you’re the strongest waterbender I’ve ever seen,” you say. “You’re one of very few that has almost been able to beat Azula.”

“Are you on that list?” 

“I’ve actually beaten her,” you say. “Twice during sparring sessions since we became friends, but she says they don't count.”

“Then it sounds to me like she’s scared of you being stronger than her.”

You scoff. “Azula isn’t scared of anything.”

“Really?” Katara asks, and you nod. “Then why were you so terrified of leaving?” 

“That’s me, not her—” 

“But you wouldn’t be scared if she wasn’t scared.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m glad you already know everything about me.” 

“Well, I came over here because I know you need another healing session.” Katara gives you a disapproving look. “You shouldn’t even be training. Your ribs are still healing— I mean, don’t you feel it?” 

“If I didn’t train through my injuries, I would never train.”

Katara frowns. “That’s not good.” 

“That’s life,” you say, and you sigh. “I’m surprised you haven’t kicked me out yet.” 

“I’ve thought about it,” she admits. “But Aang won’t have it. So come on.”

Soon you’re in Katara’s tent again, lying on your back as she bends water onto her hands then places it on your chest. That glow returns and you’re almost awestruck. The only blues you’re really used to seeing come from Azula and her immense power. Katara’s healing is much gentler.

“How long have you been able to do this?” 

“Do you really have to make small talk right now?” 

“It’s not small talk if I barely know you all,” you say. “I mean, I didn’t even know half of your names until yesterday.”

“Really?” 

“Not much time for actual small talk during all our fights,” you say wryly, and Katara huffs a short laugh. 

“I’ve been waterbending since I was a kid,” she finally says. “I’m the last waterbender from the Southern tribe, so I’ve had to learn everything myself. I only figured out my healing when I got hurt, and I only really got good after we went to the North Pole.” 

“I think you’re a bit better than good,” you say. “The bruises I got from Omashu took weeks to heal.” 

“I would apologize,” Katara says, tilting her head, “but you kinda deserved it.” 

“You really are Kind Katara.” 

“Well, you are from the Fire Nation,” she says idly. “And you’re one of Azula’s best friends. And you spent a whole month chasing us.” 

“...Yeah,” you say. “I’m really sorry about that.” 

You can tell she doesn’t believe it, and you huff. 

“I’m serious,” you say. “I— I’d been having doubts since the first day. Azula recruited me to bring Zuko and Iroh home, not capture a child Avatar. But you don’t just say no to Azula.”

“You did.”

“No,” you say. “I’m only here by pure luck. I should be dead.”

“But you’re not,” Katara says. “So you’d better make it worth it.”

You stare at each other for a few seconds before you hear someone yelling your names outside the tent, and you’re jarred out of your shared reverie. Katara is on her feet and moving, already having bent the water back into her pouch. You’re a bit slower, grimacing as you press a hand to your chest and follow her. 

“—cannot believe you!” Katara is yelling. “You said you would stop!”

“We’ve been struggling for money since we left Gaoling, and now we have money! ” Toph exclaims. “You should be thanking me!”

Sokka, Toph and Aang are all standing bunched together as Katara glares at them—Sokka’s eyes meet yours in an instant, and you have to look away. 

“Money isn’t any good when we camp in the middle of nowhere half the time—”

“But now we can stock up when we go through towns.”

“That won’t help much if you get discovered and the Fire Nation finds out Aang is alive!”

“Katara, it’s okay!” Aang says. “You know we’ve been doing this for a few days, and nothing bad has happened—”

“Besides, they were trying to scam us!” Sokka adds. “Is it really that bad that we scammed them back?”

“Yes!” 

“No one can ever just say thank you, Toph,” she grumbles. She drops a bag of supplies on the ground then stomps down hard to bend it over to Katara. “I don’t really think you want to go back to roughing it now that we have the joy of simple luxuries.”

She storms off, and Katara groans. 

“What is with that girl?” 

“We’re sorry, Katara,” Aang says, cheeks flushing. “We won’t do it again.” 

“You said that last time,” Katara says. “And the last time.” 

“And you just said—” 

Aang elbows Sokka before he looks back at Katara with a grin. She just crosses her arms. 

“Real convincing.” She glances at you and gestures with her head towards her tent. “Come on. We have to finish your healing session.”

“Wait!” Sokka exclaims, darting over to you—he looks at Katara, then you, and he stumbles a bit before he looks back at his sister. “Can I take her into town?” 

“Are you deaf?” 

“I know, I know, your healing session. I meant after.” 

“...Oh,” Katara says, still slightly suspicious. “Why?” 

“Yeah,” you say. “Why?” 

Sokka’s brows crease for a moment. “Your clothes are a wreck.” 

You look down and grimace. “Oh. Yeah.” 

A third of your left pant leg is torn off, your belt is gone, your hair is still in tangles and very much not in a topknot—the cuts and bruises have faded thanks to Katara, but even your shoes are lost. You’re at least thankful you left your flame pin in your tent. One sign of your existence still persists. 

“You’re Fire Nation. You’re the only one of us that doesn’t have to pretend to fit in here, so you shouldn’t make it harder.” 

“That’s… surprisingly smart,” Katara says. 

“I’m smart all the time!” Sokka insists. “It’s not my fault you don’t understand my humor!” 

You can’t help but smile at their arguing, and Sokka holds out his arm. 

“She thinks it’s a good idea.” 

“She is from the Fire Nation.” 

“Yeah, we’ve already established that.” 

Katara huffs. “You shouldn’t trust her so easily. Just because you’ve had a few chats and you’re still alive to gush about it doesn’t mean she’s suddenly good.” 

“I don’t do that—”

“Sure,” she says. “See you in ten.” 

-

You expect Katara to lecture you during the end of the session, but she finishes it rather quickly and sends you on your way. 

Before you leave the tent, you turn back to her. 

“Listen, Katara. About Sokka—” 

“Don’t mess with him,” she says. 

“What?” 

“I’m not stupid,” she says. “I know he likes you. Don’t use it.”

You frown. “I would never. And I— I don’t even think he likes me, he just feels bad—” 

“You’re not stupid either.”

You fall silent and she sighs. “Just… be nice, or else. My brother has been through a lot, and I won’t let you be another problem.” 

“You two really care about each other, huh?” 

Katara glances away. “For a while, he was all I had. I’ll do anything to keep him safe.”

Your heart tightens. You’re only here because your brother thought the same, and you just sat there and watched him die. You can’t even be there to comfort Lee through the grief. 

“I understand,” you say softly. “I swear I won’t do anything to hurt him. Warrior’s honor.” 

Her lips twitch like she wants to smile, but eventually she just nods. “Don’t get in trouble.”

You nod back then leave the tent. Sokka is sitting against the giant sky bison, and he hurries to his feet once he spots you. 

“Are you good to go?” 

“Yeah,” you say. “Have you just been waiting out here?” 

Sokka shrugs. “I wanted to make sure I was ready when you are.” He extends an arm towards the village and bows. “After you, my lady.” 

You bite back your smile as you start walking, and Sokka falls into step with you. 

“I’m not a lady anymore,” you say. “I kinda lost all privileges when I betrayed my father.” 

“I always knew you had it in you,” Sokka says. 

You huff. “Yeah, I’m sure. Did you think about that while you were icing your bruises and planning against our attacks?” 

“Azula wouldn’t have had all those pleasant conversations with me without trying to hurt me,” he says. “You did.” 

“Ah, yes. Your whim.” 

“Don’t discount my whims.” 

“They just don’t really have that much standing in reality.” 

“Are you saying that you’re a bad person?” 

“I’m saying that I don’t know,” you say. “I— I didn’t choose to be here, I just ended up here. I’m not this— paragon of nobility that you think I am.” 

“I don’t think you’re anything,” Sokka says. “I just want to spend time with you. Is that a bad thing?”

You look over to see Sokka already staring at you, his gaze surprisingly earnest, and your eyes soften. You don’t know if you did something good in a past life to deserve someone like Sokka trying to be your friend—you don’t know why he’s trying so hard with someone like you. 

Do you really think that a boy like him could ever want a girl like you?

“Maybe,” you say faintly. “But I want it too.”

Sokka lights up with a grin, and you find yourself smiling too. 

“First order of business then,” he says. “To the shoe store!”

-

There is no shoe store. 

You are, after all, in some random Fire Nation village, but you manage to find a suitable pair of sandals shoved in the corner of a tiny clothing shop. 

You want to grab the simplest top and pants they have, but Sokka insists that you’ll be less recognizable if you dress the opposite of what you usually go for—and when you step out in a long, flowy skirt and a sleeveless top that ties in the back that you cover up with a shawl, his eyes nearly pop out of his head. 

(“Yeah,” he stammers out, “you look good. Really good.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah!” he exclaims, then he coughs. “I mean, really good because no one will recognize you. You actually look nice.” 

“Actually?”)

You make sure to get golden cuffs to hide your scars as well. It’s not really a conversation you want to have right now, and you don’t want to make yourself stand out. 

You have to get the simplest pin to tie your hair up—Sokka says it’s imperative you lower your status as they’ve been masquerading as colonials—and it’s nice to have a topknot in again. It makes you feel like you haven’t completely betrayed everything you’ve ever known. 

“Well, I’d say this has been a very successful trip,” Sokka says, puffing his chest out. “You’ve got clothes, shoes, a new pin, and no one’s even spotted us. I guess it was a good thing we got all that money, huh?” 

“I think you guys are above street scams,” you say wryly. 

“We’re not above earning money,” he says. “It’s not like we can get jobs. Aang went to school once, and that nearly exposed us all.” 

“Sure.”

“Do you want to come with us the next morning?” he asks. “Toph and Aang are really incredible. It also brings me a lot of satisfaction to know these people are losing their blood money to the Avatar.”

“I don’t think it’s really my style,” you say wryly. “Besides, Katara says I should have one more healing session, and then after that…”

You trail off, and he frowns. “What?”

“I have to figure out somewhere to go,” you say. 

“Katara said that?” 

“I kind of filled in the blanks on my own.”

“Well, unfill them,” he says. “Obviously, you can stay here.” 

You frown. “I don’t really know if the others would agree with you.”

“Aang was the one who brought you back in the first place, and Toph probably doesn’t even care who you are.” 

“Your sister doesn’t like me.” 

“Katara is protective,” Sokka says. “After what happened to Aang, she has every right to be, even if it is a little suffocating.”

“And what about you?” you ask. “What do you think about me?” 

Sokka falls silent, but you feel his eyes on you. You muster the courage to meet them and he tilts his head. 

“I think you don’t give yourself enough credit,” he finally says. 

“What does that mean?”

“You’re here. That means a lot more than you think it does.”

You huff and shake your head. “Do you always speak in riddles?” 

“Only with people I like.” 

You roll your eyes but you keep walking, eventually reaching the town square. You stumble to a stop before you even realize it, because there’s a giant statue of Fire Lord Ozai in the way. Fire shoots from his fists and mouth, and you can feel the heat even from here. 

It’s one of the ugliest things you’ve ever seen. Honestly, it feels insulting. It’s a waste of resources to keep it lit, and it’s a total hazard for nonbenders. But what the Fire Lord says goes.

“What are you thinking about?”

You jump out of your skin as Sokka appears next to you, and he has the nerve to laugh. 

“I snuck up on you!”

“I was focused on something else!” you insist. “I knew you were there—”

“Then why did you jump?” Sokka asks, more than a bit smug. 

“Because you’re irritating.”

“Sure. So what are you thinking about? Admiring your supreme leader?”

You look back at the statue of Fire Lord Ozai with a grimace. “It’s too garish to admire.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Not a fan?”

“Of course not.”

“Wow,” Sokka whistles, “one day away from the Fire Nation and you’re already turning your back on the guy.”

You frown. “I haven’t turned my back on him.”

“Uh, yeah, you have,” he says. “You’re roughing it with the Avatar and friends. I think that’s the quickest way to traitordom. 

Your eyes flit away but you see him frown out of your peripherals. “What, do you want to go back?” 

“No,” you say. “I— I don’t think so, at least. But—”

You trail off as you chew on your lip. For once, Sokka actually stays silent, giving you the time you need. 

“Some part of me still thinks everything can go back to normal,” you finally manage. “That one day this will be over, and I’ll get to go home to my brothers and my friends and they’ll all love me like they used to.”

“But?” 

“How do you know there’s a but?” 

“Because there always is.”

You sigh and look back at Sokka. Your skin heats at his softly determined expression, and you really get to study him. 

You like his hair in a topknot a lot, especially with the shaved sides of his head having grown in overtime. His copper skin is more tan than before from spending so much time in the Fire Nation—he’s even gotten a few scattered freckles around his face. Your lips twitch before you think better of smiling. 

“But the reason I ran was because I didn’t want to go back to that,” you say quietly. “And now I can’t, because things will never be the same. Ever.” 

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Sokka says. 

“You think it’s for the best that my brother is dead?” 

“No!” he exclaims, eyes widening slightly. “No— of course not! I’m so sorry—” 

“I know,” you say wryly. “I was teasing you.”

“...That’s a weird thing to tease someone about.” 

“Sorry.” 

“You don’t need to be sorry.” Sokka sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry you have to go through it. I don’t know what I would do if I lost Katara—but I do know what it’s like to lose someone you care a lot about.”

“Your mom,” you say, and his eyes flit away. “I remember.” 

“There’s others.”

“Oh.”

“There was this girl,” Sokka says halfheartedly. “From the Northern Water Tribe. A princess, I mean. She was engaged to someone else, but we still got really close. Then…”

“Princess Yue,” you whisper, and his eyes widen slightly as he looks back at you. 

“You know about it?”

You nod. “All the soldiers could talk about for weeks was Admiral Zhao’s great failure. He rose the ranks extremely fast, but he fell harder than anyone in recent history. His son will bear the brand of his failure in his absence.”

“Why are you smiling about that?” 

You blink, then realize your lips have twitched into something resembling a smile. You smooth out your expression as you clear your throat. “He bullied me once in school. He never did again.” 

“Zhao is the reason Yue died,” he says. “The moon spirit gave Yue life, and Zhao killed it. It was my job to protect her, but I failed.”

Bile rises in your throat as your head drops. You see nothing but packed gravel.

You knew the Northern princess had died, but you didn’t know Zhao killed her. Indirectly, sure, but… 

Agni. Was this the casual cruelty your nation had always flaunted? The sort of damage you would excel at in mindless loyalty to your nation? 

“She’d be proud of you,” you say faintly. 

“Sure.”

“I mean it, Sokka.” You take his hand with a smile and tilt your head forward to look at him. “You’re incredible. You’re one of the smartest enemies I’ve ever faced, one of the most persistent, protective and brave— and I think you’re one of the nicest people in the world.”

“Now I think you mean it even less,” he says wryly, and your eyes soften. 

“You helped me when you had no reason to,” you say. “You’re still helping me. And you’re literally helping the Avatar save the world. How could she not be proud?” 

Sokka actually smiles at that, no matter how small, and yours grows. “...Thanks. That means a lot from my sixth best friend.” 

You frown. “I’m on a new list?” 

“You’re clearly not my enemy anymore,” he says. “I had to move you over.” 

“But we barely know each other.” You realize you’re still holding his hands and you quickly let go. “How am I in the top ten?”

“Well, there’s only Aang and Toph, and Suki’s up there— I’m still mad about what you did to her.” 

“Then how am I on the friend’s list at all?” 

“Because you’re going to be with me when we save her from the Fire Nation. And then there’s Katara, but there’s also this mechanist guy I met that I invented—”

“Say that again?” 

“I invented warships with this engineer I met—” 

“Before that.”

“Just because Katara’s my sister doesn’t mean she has to be my friend!” 

“Before that!” 

“Oh,” Sokka says. “As soon as I figure out where she is, you’re helping me get her out.” 

You smile a bit. “Are you serious?” 

“Uh— yeah! You’re the reason she’s in there, so it’s only fair!” 

“No, I want to!” you say. I— I’m just honored that you’d trust me enough to pick me for a mission like that.” 

Sokka’s eyes narrow a bit as he stares at you, and you chuckle. “I’m serious on that too. I’ve been feeling awful about that since it happened.” 

“So you do have a heart,” he says. 

“...It’s been a bit dormant.” 

“Well,” Sokka smiles as he nudges your shoulder, “I’m glad I could wake it up again.” 

Your face explodes like a volcano and you turn away to hide your wide eyes. “We should get back to camp.” 

-

You and Sokka get back an hour or two before sunset. You’re so glad you’re in the Fire Nation for the summer—it reminds you of those sticky afternoons in Caldera City where you would play in the gardens for hours until you were completely winded and could barely make a flame. 

Sometimes, when the Fire Lord was locked in meetings all day and the Fire Prince and Fire Princess were busy, you would race each other through the palace until someone got stopped by a guard or a tutor. It helped you map out all the quickest paths—and it only got more intense when Azula discovered the secret tunnels beneath the city. 

One time, you got turned around and completely messed up the map in your head. An hour passed, and no one came. You yelled until you lost your voice, but no one came. It wasn’t until the next morning when Azula and Zuko found you huddled in a corner, soaked in tears. Zuko hugged you and held your hand on the way out. Azula scolded you for getting lost but never let go of your other hand. 

Things are simpler out here, with Sokka and the Avatar and the rest of their motley crew. As you sit around a campfire Sokka insists on making instead of you, you watch as they chat and insult and joke and love. 

Sokka and Toph are constantly hitting each other over things the other says, but he listens to her with clear intent that she knows even without being able to see. Aang and Katara are quiet confidence together, casual contact and easy conversation whenever they’re going back and forth—but he’s laughing loud enough to wake up his sky bison when he’s going at it with Toph and Aang, and Katara shoots some incredibly withering glares. 

They’re all relaxed as they eat the soup Katara made, one with actual meat and vegetables and potatoes, which Sokka tells you is a rarity. The Avatar doesn’t eat meat, you notice, and you very quickly realize why your team has fared so well even in the face of every defeat.

The last time you were all together with your friends around a campfire, you were wracked with guilt, lashing out at each other as you recounted your unsavory pasts. You even burned a house down together, ruining a teenager whose only crime was unwittingly getting on the royal family’s bad side.  

Here, it’s so different it’s almost foreign.

Someone suddenly says your name and you’re knocked out of your trance—Aang is smiling at you as he graciously repeats himself. 

“We were just talking about the past few months,” he says. “What we’ve been up to since you saw you last.” 

“I still think it’s a bad idea to be airing our business out like this,” Katara says. “She could just go back to Azula with everything and ruin us.” 

“She won’t,” Sokka interjects. You feel some strange way every time he defends you, like how your stomach drops every time you set sail. His eyes cut over to you before they go back to Katara. “If she wanted to hurt us, she’s had so many chances. She would’ve dropkicked Aang in the ocean when he woke her up if she wanted to.” 

“I would pay to see that,” Toph laughs, and Aang frowns. 

“That’s because she’s just been too weak to do anything,” Katara says, staring at you. “Maybe she’s just waiting until I heal her enough so she can do her flashy firebending and destroy us from the inside.” 

You blink. “I know for a fact I’m not going to do that.”

Sokka throws out his arm. “See?”

“It’s called lying, Sokka!”

“I’m not lying,” you insist. “I don’t want to hurt any of you. I— I’m not part of Azula’s team anymore. She’ll probably disown me when she finds out what I’m doing, but—” 

“Stay on topic, princess,” Toph interrupts. 

“I’m not saying I’m good now,” you huff a laugh, “but I won’t do anything to harm you or your quest to save the world.” Your eyes dart between all of them with a slight smile. “I swear it.” 

Aang smiles at you and it’s like the burst of energy you get when the sun shines bright upon you. Sokka is looking at you with that soft smile, but something else glints in his eyes, something kind you can’t exactly pick out. You love the way it lights up his entire body, that his posture straightens as he tugs at his necklace.

“A noble’s word is usually one you can trust,” Toph says. “Especially one with the ability to back it up.” 

“And I will,” you say. “All I ask for is somewhere to rest my head, and to get rid of hunger pangs, until I’m healed to go out on my own.” 

“It doesn’t have to just be until you’re healed,” Sokka says. You frown. 

“Why?” 

“Because—” his eyes dart between his friends— “Aang needs a firebending teacher.” 

“What?” 

“Katara—” 

“I told you, I don’t want to learn firebending—” 

“You have to, Aang—”

“I think Twinkle Toes could use some of her advice—”

“Woah, woah woah!” you exclaim, and their bickering quiets as six pairs of eyes land on you, the most intimidating spider ant—you choose to focus on Sokka. “You didn’t tell me this would be a thing.” 

“That’s because I kind of just came up with it now.” 

“Sokka!” 

“Geez, you say it as loud as Katara—” 

“Sokka,” Aang interrupts, “we already decided I can beat the Fire Lord without firebending.”

“When did we decide that?” he marvels. 

“When he decided he didn’t want to learn firebending,” Toph mocks. 

“And he’s not going to learn from you even if he needed it,” Katara says, looking at you with intent. 

“I agree!” 

“Fine, fine,” Sokka says. “But you’re going to need to learn eventually, and she literally washed up on the beach when you needed her.” 

“Firebending isn’t something you go into halfway,” you say. “The best way to learn firebending is through clarity of mind, and if you don’t have that, you end up resorting to your anger and you’ll never unlock your full potential.” 

“Even the elite firebender agrees!” Aang exclaims. 

“I said fine,” Sokka repeats, and he huffs. “All of a sudden, no one wants to listen to the idea guy.” 

“Don’t feel bad,” Toph says. “Your best idea yet is almost complete, right?” 

“Toph! That’s a secret!” He side-eyes you as he whisper-yells to Toph. “We can’t let her know about it!” 

“You just advocated for her to be Aang’s firebending teacher,” Toph says. “That means she would be part of the group, but you don’t think she can be be in on the plan.” 

“It’s fine,” you say, though it unexpectedly stings. “I get it. I’m Fire Nation.” 

“No,” Aang says, shaking his head. “If she’s going to be with us, she’s going to be with us. That means she gets in on the plans.”

“But she’s not with us yet,” Katara says. “We’ve known her for two days!” 

“You guys knew me for a day before you recruited me,” Toph says. 

“That was different,” Aang says. “I had a vision of you.” 

“I don’t need to be with you all yet,” you interject a little hastily, trying to end this line of conversation before it can start. “We can figure it all out once Katara says I’m healed enough. Is that a good compromise?” 

“It’s fine, I guess,” Toph says. 

“I don’t like it,” Katara frowns. 

“Perfect,” Sokka smiles. “A good compromise means no one is happy.” 

“That’s stupid.” 

“Philosophy is not stupid, Toph—” 

“Save it.” 

“I’m so excited we’re finally getting the chance to talk with someone from the Fire Nation without them trying to kill us!” Aang exclaims. 

“And Sokka’s happy he has someone new to regale his incredible exploits to,” Katara says wryly. 

“Okay, do you remember how I revolutionized air travel in one day?” Sokka asks. “You just throw some water around. It’s not that cool.” 

“Are you kidding? She brought me back to life!” 

“ —And defeated Azula,” she adds with a pointed glance at you. 

“Almost defeated,” you say, and she scoffs. “What? Ba Sing Se has fallen and we’re camping on a cliff.”

“Wow. You’re more negative than Sokka.” 

“Excuse me, she’s not? Do not take away my title—” 

“As what? The group pessimist?” 

“The group realist,” he says, “the only one without your crazy bending.”

“It’s not crazy, it’s an artform!” 

“Yeah, it’s real artistic when I get soaked every time you practice with Aang.”

“It’s not my fault you insist on sunbathing every time we’re training!” 

They continue to go back and forth, occasional input from Toph, who goads them on, and Aang, who tries to cool them down. You pull your knees to your chest and realize you’re actually smiling. 

“Yue, I’ll have to look at the dates of the proposed press releases when I’m back in the office—BUT—I want to stress that I hear you, girl. It’s a lot going on all at once. You have a big move coming up and you’re going through writer's block, and all the things in between. Take this time to focus on you and I’ll handle everything else!” you instruct, your voice full of comfort and warmth, despite the fact you’re multitasking as you do one final overview in your compact mirror.

There’s a deep sigh of relief from the other end of your speaker, followed by the quiet sound of sniffling. “Y/n, you’re the best editor to ever exist in the whole wide world and I know you got a man now, but I love you so much,” her confession is said in between sniffles and it makes you giggle.

“I love you too, Yue! You’re my favorite writer ever and I’m not just blowing smoke up your ass. Anyhow, enjoy your vacation time and we’ll chat business in two weeks?”

“Yeah, yeah. Have fun ogling at Mr. Corporate,” she squeaks out before hanging up.

You chuckle, tossing your phone into the passenger seat. After checking your lip gloss one last time in the rearview mirror, you shift the car into drive. You pull out of the side street parking spot you’d dipped into to take her call, steering back into the midday traffic.

Your destination is the new rooftop restaurant you casually mentioned to Zuko in passing just a few days ago. Next thing you know, in true, attentive Zuko fashion, he adjusts his schedule and books a lunch date for the two of you to try it out.

The car comes to a smooth halt in the bustling valet line. The restaurant sits right atop a popular hotel, adding to the heavy foot traffic around you. Gathering your purse and phone, you offer the valet attendant a bright smile as they jog over and open your door.

“Thank you!” you say, stepping out into the warm air. They hand you a small red ticket, which you slide safely into your bag, your stomach doing a little nervous flip of anticipation. Despite dating for a while now, you always get a bit nervous before seeing him in public. And it's only escalated despite the sex seal being decimated and cremated, you are in what feels like a constant state of ovulation. Wanting him. Needing him. His smallest actions and mannerisms always have you ready to drag him to the nearest flat surface and just have your way with him. He smiles at you? You’re soaked. His hand brushes against you? You’re soaked. He is drinking his tea? You’re soaked. It’s an unfamiliar cycle of just being perpetually horny for a man you find overly attractive.

You shake your head, trying to collect yourself as you make your way through the grand, marble-floored lobby of the hotel, heading straight for the sleek glass elevators designated for the rooftop. Standing inside as the elevator shoots upward, you take a second to check your reflection in the polished mirrored walls, smoothing down your outfit.

You are aiming for a chic, effortless look today. A black SKIMS capri-catsuit, an oversized cream button-up purposefully left unbuttoned, cream kitten heels, and gold accessories to complement the gold hardware on your cream shoulder bag. You look damn good. You feel damn good—even your hair is cooperating as your silk press flows like water around your shoulders.

Once the elevator doors open, you step out and take a left down a hallway that’s flanked with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and an open window in the ceiling, letting natural light brighten up the space beautifully. You wink at yourself as you pass the mirrors and reach the hostess stand.

The young woman behind the podium looks up, and her eyes instantly track your outfit from your silk press down to your cream kitten heels. There is a brief, unmistakable flicker of awe in her expression, immediately followed by a slight squint of confusion. It's that classic, elitist look, as if she's trying to calculate exactly how a baddie in a bodysuit fits into the hotel's stiff corporate vibe, or if you simply wandered onto the wrong floor.

You don't give her the satisfaction of letting her hesitate.

"Hi, good afternoon," you say smoothly, clutching your cream and gold purse a little tighter under your arm. "I'm joining a Mr. Ryu."

The confusion on the hostess's face vanishes instantly, replaced by a wide, well-trained smile. "Right this way, ma'am."

You follow her through the main dining room, and you immediately clock the vibe. It is pure, unfiltered elitist energy. The space is packed with men in expensive tailored suits and older women who look like they belong to an exclusive country club board—very Martha Stewart, very stiff money. It is the kind of room meant to make outsiders feel small, but it doesn't break your stride for a second. You belong anywhere you set your kitten heels down.

Instead of paying attention to the staring patrons, you focus on the interior design. The restaurant is stunning, heavily utilizing lush, cascading greenery against sleek gold accents that catch the natural light from the high ceilings.

The hostess guides you out onto the expansive open terrace, and the layout immediately catches your eye. The right side is bustling, packed tight with patrons chattering over lunch. The left side, however, is completely vacant. It's a ghost town.

As you follow her down the empty left path, you realize why. There, sitting at a prime table right by the glass edge overlooking the sprawling city and the dramatic, cloudy gray sky, is Zuko. He literally bought out or reserved an entire half of a rooftop just for a casual lunch date.

Hearing the signature click of your heels against the terrace flooring, he turns his head. The professional, stoic mask he usually wears melts away, a wide smile breaking across his face the second he finally sees the object of his affection standing right in front of him.

His sharp corporate jacket is draped neatly over the back of his chair, his dark hair is pulled up into a sleek, precise bun, and he smells faintly of expensive cologne and the rich tea sitting on the table.

He doesn't even let you reach the table before he stands up, stepping into your space and pulling you flush against him into a warm, grounding hug. His hand rests firmly against the small of your back, slipping underneath your button-up and right against the fabric of your one-piece.

"Hi, princess," he murmurs against your hair, his voice low and full of that heavy, exclusive affection he only ever gives to you.

You melt into him for a second, but the humor in the situation brings a smirk to your lips. Pulling back just enough to look at him, you tilt your head and look around the completely empty half of the terrace. "Mr. Zuko," you tease, your voice dripping with playful amusement. "Did you seriously clear out an entire section of a restaurant just for a quick lunch?"

Zuko doesn't even look remotely guilty. His gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second, sending that familiar, electric jolt straight to your core, before he meets your eyes with a shrug.

"I didn't have any plans on sharing my space with other people today," he admits easily, his thumb lightly stroking your waist. "Not when I only have you for a limited amount of time before I have to get back to the office."

You lock your arms tighter around him, straining on your tippy toes to plant a firm kiss right on his lips. “Love when you get selfish about me,” you hum against his mouth, pulling back just enough to offer an apologetic smile. “Sorry I’m late. Yue had a crisis and I’m not a good multitasker when running an intervention.”

Zuko hums, his hands resting heavily on your hips as he easily anchors you against his taller frame. A fond, knowing glint enters his eyes at the mention of your favorite writer.

“Is she alright?” he asks, his thumb tracing a slow circle against the black fabric of your catsuit. Even when he's being a possessive corporate mogul, he's inherently a protector, always genuinely caring about the people in your circle.

“She’s fine, just classic pre-move panic mixed post-break up and a splash of severe writer's block,” you explain, finally letting yourself drop back down onto the flats of your kitten heels. “I told her to take two weeks off and let me handle the chaos. But enough about work.”

You step back slightly, intentionally letting his gaze drop to fully appreciate the look you put together for him. His eyes darken instantly, taking in the way the form-fitting material hugs every single one of your curves, contrasted by the casual elegance of your unbuttoned cream shirt and the gleaming gold jewelry at your throat and ankle.

The professional man who just bought out half a rooftop is suddenly looking at you like he wants to skip lunch entirely. The intensity of his gaze makes your smile widen—mulling over your outfit for two hours was worth the brain power and stress when your man is looking at you like he’s ready to buy out the whole building for a bit more privacy for his next course of actions.

He lets out a quiet, breathy chuckle, his eyes lingering on the shimmer applied to your collarbone before he finally lets his hands slip from your hips. Stepping behind your chair, he pulls it out for you with practiced elegance. Once you get settled, he smoothly pushes it back in, leaning down to plant a soft kiss right against your cheek. His breath deepening slightly against your skin as he catches the scent of your perfume.

“You look rather stunning to say you were just handling a crisis,” he murmurs near your ear, his voice laced with a reverence that makes your legs press closer together.

You bite your lip to keep from grinning like a fool as he sits in his chair beside you. The moment he gets comfortable again, a waiter seamlessly appears from the edge of the terrace. Without a word, a crisp glass of ice water with a fresh slice of lime and a tall, condensation-beaded sparkling strawberry lemonade are placed right beside your cream and gold bag.

In true Zuko fashion, he pre-ordered your drink when he ordered his.

You pick up the sparkling lemonade, the cool glass a welcome relief against your hands as you look across the table at him. He is already reaching for his cup of hot tea, taking a slow sip while his eyes lock onto yours over the rim.

You smile around the straw, silently hoping the sweet drink will cool off the slut brewing inside you.

He just looks too enticing.

“How has the rest of your morning been?” Zuko asks, setting his tea back down on its saucer with a quiet clink. He rests his forearms on the table, leaning in slightly, completely focused on you.

“Busy,” you admit, taking another sip of your lemonade. “I had a mountain of paperwork to clear this morning before Yue called. And I have plans to go shopping with Suki after lunch.”

Zuko raises an eyebrow in silent question.

“One of the girls on her dance team is having a birthday dinner tonight,” you explain, leaning forward in your chair and resting your chin in your hand. “Suki’s trying to drag me along. I told her I might go, but honestly…” Your eyes trace the sharp line of his jawline, dropping down to the plush curve of his lips. “…I would love nothing more than to just skip it, curl up in bed, and rub my cold feet all over you instead. I do have plans on joining them for her daytime activity though! It’s golf lessons with a private instructor.”

A faint, amused smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his dark eyes darkening with a sudden, heavy heat. But before he can comment on your favorite bedtime ritual, his smirk fades into something a bit more intense. He notices the way your gaze hasn't left his lips since you started talking.

He leans closer a fraction of an inch, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling register that makes the hairs on your arms stand up. “Princess,” he murmurs, his eyes locking onto yours with demanding intensity. “Why do you keep staring at my mouth?”

His question makes you inhale sharply, and a wicked grin pulls at your lips as you lean further into his space, until the scent of his green tea and delicious cologne infiltrate your senses. “Because I want it on me…any other questions officer?”

Your raw honesty stuns him. Derailing his ability to form a quick-witted response, so you go further–obviously.

“I’m trying to act right, but you’re just looking too fine for me to think about anything other than getting a hotel room for lunch instead of an order of crab cakes,” you continue, eyes lazily scanning the menu and finding a twinge of sadness to not see him on it.

The executive who just spent his morning managing millions of dollars and hundreds of employees is completely thrown off balance by a girl in a bodysuit telling him she wants him for lunch. 

You take a slow, agonizingly deliberate sip of your sparkling strawberry lemonade, watching his adam's apple bob as he swallows hard. He shakes his head, a look of amusement finally overtaking his stunned expression. “You are one of a kind, princess…and as enticing as that sounds, I’d need more than forty-five minutes with you to feel satisfied and the aftermath I have plans on leaving you in will ruin the rest of your ambitions for the day,” 

A sudden, sharp heat rushes straight to your core at his words, your grip tightening around the cool glass of lemonade. Hearing the man of your dreams casually detail exactly how thoroughly he plans on ruining you, while sitting under the bright daylight of a luxury hotel terrace, makes your legs lock tightly together beneath the table. 

Before you can retort, challenge, and demand he clear his schedule for the day, the waiter returns. He sets down a lovely tray of crab cakes and a basket of fresh artisanal bread. 

You stare down at the perfectly golden, crisp appetizers, then slowly look back up across the table. You roll your eyes, a smug, highly amused grin pulling at your glossed lips as you rest your chin in your hand.

"Crab cakes," you tease, your voice dipping into a mix of awe and wonder. "Let me guess. You looked at the menu the exact second you arrived and knew exactly what would get me right?"

Zuko doesn't look even remotely ashamed. He picks up his linen napkin, smoothing it over his lap, a devastatingly handsome smirk playing on his plush lips as he meets your stare.

"I know what you like, princess," he admits easily, his rough, gravelly voice totally unbothered by the waiter's presence. He reaches out with a set of tongs, placing a perfect crab cake onto your small plate with practiced elegance. "So, I figured I’d save you the trouble of reading or contemplating."

You pick up your fork, flaking off a small, steaming piece of the crab cake, but your eyes never leave his. "You think you know exactly what I want, whenever I want it?" 

Zuko pauses, his gold eyes a dangerous abyss as he tracks the movement of your mouth. He leans his forearms flat on the white tablecloth, closing the distance between you until the scent of your soft perfume is all he can smell.

"I know you wanted a hotel room thirty seconds ago," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, predatory rumble meant strictly for your ears. "And I know that right now, you're trying to use a fork to distract yourself from how wet you are under this table. Am I wrong?"

His blunt observation hits you like a tidal wave. It’s a completely accurate read, and it’s one he’s stated with pride in a public space. You glance quickly to the side, checking to make sure the waiter has fully vanished back into the main dining room, but the left side of the terrace remains an absolute ghost town—completely vacant, completely silent, leaving you entirely at his mercy.

"Zuko, you are no good," you whisper-hiss, your fingers tightening around the silver handle of your fork until your knuckles turn white. "We are in public."

"And I bought out half the rooftop precisely so I could say whatever I want to you, princess," he reminds you smoothly.

He doesn't look even remotely flustered. Instead, he maintains his professional composure, looking every part of a corporate mogul and old money—while he casually dissects exactly how unraveled you are beneath the tablecloth. 

You clear your throat, trying to overturn the power dynamic that just put you on your ass. But the smartass in you is coming up short the longer you hold his gaze, so you concede. 

“One of us needs to be an adult, so I shall take on that role. Drink your tea and lock-in, good looking,” you pause, grin widening as you break another piece of crab cake off. “Can’t have your employees thinking your girlfriend put witchcraft on you and now you’re canceling meetings when in reality you just can't get enough of me.” 

Zuko pauses, his teacup halfway to his lips as your wicked response lands between you. For a fraction of a second, his striking gold eyes widen in genuine, caught-off-guard surprise before a quiet chuckle bubbles up from deep inside his chest. He shakes his head, setting the cup back onto its saucer with a soft, authoritative clink.

"Witchcraft," he repeats smoothly, his voice dropping into a register so deep it makes you hyperaware of the arousal building in your seamless underwear. The thin material never stood a chance with him, and you should have known that when picking them out. "Is that what we're calling it now, princess?"

"I mean, look at you," you mumble softly around your next bite of crab cake, utterly delighted by the fact that you managed to off-center his composure even a little bit. "You’re completely unfocused. The mogul who manages hundreds of people, is currently negotiating his entire afternoon schedule just because his girlfriend wore a catsuit to lunch."

He raises his eyebrow, head cocking to the side as he mulls over your statement. His gaze drops down to appreciate the outfit you so carefully put together for him this morning, one more time. “She wore a catsuit and then proceeded to tell me that she wants to have me for lunch…I think that would make any man in his right mind reconsider the importance of quarter three reports…and since we’re being adults all of a sudden, stop eye-fucking me so we can go back to behaving accordingly.” 

You try to break his gold gaze, to force your eyes down to your plate, but the sheer, magnetic pull of his presence keeps you completely locked in place. "I am behaving accordingly," you attempt to mumble back, but your voice is entirely too soft, carrying a breathless, betraying tremor that completely ruins your defense.

"You aren't," Zuko rumbles smoothly. He takes a slow, meticulous sip of his hot green tea, his eyes never once unlocking from yours over the porcelain rim. He sets the cup back down on its saucer, leaning back into his chair with a dominant grace that makes your core clamp down in a desperate ache. "You’ve been tracking my mouth for the last ten minutes, princess. You're sitting there trying to play the adult, but you're practically counting down the hours until I can finally put my hands on you."

He’s right.You know he’s right. He knows he’s right. 

And yet, your brain still works overtime to craft a comeback, to try and make you feel a semblance of control, despite when being in his presence, control is the last thing you want and it’s the last thing you even try to hold on too. You let him have it. You want him to have it…and god does he. 

The words die in your throat as the scent of steak and sweet potatoes hits you. You turn your head to the side to see the waiter setting a tray down on a tray stand. Your mouth opens slightly at the sight. He’s taken care of your entire order before, so it shouldn’t surprise you to see him having done it again—and yet every time it leaves you breathless. 

The waiter steps up to the table with practiced, silent professionalism, lifting the silver domes to reveal the perfectly seared steak, glistening under a rich reduction, alongside a side of fragrant, roasted sweet potatoes. The rich, savory aroma completely floods the space between you, providing a temporary shield against the suffocating sexual tension Zuko just built up.

You turn your full attention back to the man who’s made you speechless for the third time in a matter of fifteen minutes. He’s adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them up neatly until they’re out of the danger zone for food to splash on them.

“Will you be needing anything else before I bring out dessert?” the waiter asks, setting a fresh cup of tea beside Zuko and clearing the remnants of the appetizer.

“No, thank you. We’re all set,” Zuko states smoothly. He carefully moves his own entree, a steakhouse wedge salad, to the side and lifts your plate, settling it down directly in front of himself as he calmly starts cutting your steak into bite-sized pieces. 

You sit there, your chin resting back in your hand, watching the rhythmic, precise movement of his hands. The heavy silver of the steak knife glints in the overcast midday light as he slices through the tender meat with an effortless, practiced grace. He doesn’t look up immediately, completely focused on making sure every single piece is perfect for you.

The silence that stretches between you isn't heavy anymore; it's warm, and intensely intimate, completely cordoned off from the rest of the bustling rooftop.

"You're ridiculous," you murmur softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them, laced with a helpless affection that completely gives you away.

Zuko pauses for a fraction of a second, the corner of his lips twitching upward into a faint, knowing smile. He finishes the last cut, smoothly switches the plates back, and slides the perfectly prepared steak and sweet potatoes right back into your space.

"I'm attentive," he corrects smoothly, picking up his own fork and knife to tackle his wedge salad. His eyes finally lift, locking onto yours with a heavy, steady gaze over the table. "There’s a difference, princess. Now eat. You’ve had a chaotic morning, and I’m not letting you leave this table running on nothing but strawberry lemonade and adrenaline."

You pick up your fork, popping a perfectly sized, savory piece of steak into your mouth. The rich reduction melts on your tongue, and you can’t help but let out a soft, satisfied hum, intentionally holding his stare as you chew.

"Alright, fine, it’s delicious," you concede, tilting your head. "So, what does my important boyfriend have left on his to-do list today?"

“Important,” he muses. A smile pulling at his cheeks as he watches you happily wiggle in your chair while eating. Very reminiscent of the morning you sat at his island eating greasy fries to fight against a raging hangover all those months ago. 

You nod, “You know, I was talking to my mom on the phone and she asked what you did for work—imagine her horror when I had no idea. I told her I assume it’s something important and grand based on your lifestyle and then she asked if you were a sugar baby…I–I” your words get lost as you watch his face turn into one of absolute horror. 

Your laughter rings out clear and bright across the vacant left side of the terrace, a sharp, joyful sound that completely shatters the teasing aura Zuko had been cultivating just moments before. You cover your mouth with your hand, your shoulders shaking helplessly as you watch the utter, catastrophic meltdown of his dignity.

Zuko sits entirely frozen, his fork hovering an inch above his wedge salad. For three agonizing seconds, the great corporate mogul looks like he’s just been short-circuited. His eyes are wide, blinking in sheer, unadulterated disbelief as his brain desperately tries to process the phrase sugar baby.

"A... what?" he finally chokes out, his gravelly voice cracking slightly in a rare, beautiful display of complete vulnerability.

"A sugar baby!" you gasp out between giggles, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of your eye, completely delighted by how thoroughly you've just broken him. "She said, and I quote, 'Y/n, if he doesn't have a real job and he's just spending some older woman's inheritance, you need to find a man with a steady tax bracket.'"

Zuko slowly lowers his fork, the silver clicking sharply against his plate. The faint crimson flush of pure embarrassment creeps up his tanned neck, staining his cheeks as he glares at you across the white tablecloth. He adjusts the cuffs of his shirt, trying and failing to summon the terrifying executive presence that usually commands entire boardrooms.

"A steady tax bracket?" he repeats, his voice a dangerous, deeply offended rumble that only makes you laugh harder. He leans across the table, his gold eyes blazing with a mix of utter exasperation and helpless affection. "Princess, I am the steady tax bracket. I manage a global portfolio. My family legacy built half the infrastructure in this district alone, don’t even get me started on the global network I oversee. I do not... I am not anyone's sugar baby."

"I know, I know!" you tease, taking another delighted sip of your strawberry lemonade to calm your burning chest. You lean forward, offering him a highly unprincipled, wicked wink. "But honestly, Zuko? With that face, those lips, and the way you look in a tailored suit... if the whole executive thing doesn't pan out, you definitely have the credentials for it. I might even sponsor you myself."

Zuko’s jaw sets into a rock-hard line, but the dangerous, predatory smirk slowly returns to his full lips, his eyes darkening into that familiar hue that promises trouble.

"Sponsor me?" he murmurs smoothly, he hooks his foot to the leg of your chair, skillfully pulling you in closer until the arm rest of your chair grazes his own. He leans in until the scent of his expensive cologne completely replaces the crisp afternoon air, his rough voice a low, husky promise meant strictly for your ears. ""You want to talk about sponsorships, princess? I could fund your entire life, your favorite writer's publishing house, and your next ten shopping sprees with Suki right now, and it wouldn't even shift a single comma in my bank account." 

Your mouth drops. Eyes wide. Thoughts empty. 

You’re aware that he’s well off. Aware that everything he owns, every room he enters, it’s because of his hard work. The multiple degrees in his home office support that notion. Financially though, you just kind of put him in the rich category, but maybe he belongs in the wealthy one. 

You blink, staring at him as the sheer magnitude of his words hangs in the warm afternoon air. The playful, smart-aleck retort you had queued up completely evaporates, leaving you utterly speechless under his steady, golden gaze. For the first time all lunch, you are entirely out of cards to play. He slowly reaches over, his large, warm hand flat against the white tablecloth as he uses two fingers to gently tap the underside of your jaw, nudging your mouth closed. The lingering heat of his touch against your skin feels like a brand, sending a sharp, electric jolt straight down to your clit.

"Now," Zuko rumbles, leaning back into his chair with a slow, dominant grace that commands the entire empty side of the terrace. He picks up his fork, casually gesturing to your plate. "Eat your steak. Because if you keep staring at me with your thoughts completely empty like that, I’m going to skip the corporate formalities, sign the check, and handle the rest of our afternoon in the penthouse suite of this hotel."

You swallow hard, finally forcing your hands to pick up your fork again. If you don't look busy, he’s actually going to drag you to the lobby, and your underwear cannot take any more teasing.

You stab a piece of perfectly roasted sweet potato, but instead of eating it right away, you point the fork slightly in his direction, your eyes narrowing as a newfound curiosity breaks through your shock.

"Okay, financial flex aside," you start, your voice returning with a slightly breathless, velvety quality. "What do you actually do all day in that high-rise office, Zuko? I know it's a global asset firm, but give me the day-to-day. Because right now, I’m picturing a mix of shadow operations and absolute corporate villainy."

The predatory heat in his eyes softens just a fraction into a calm, fiercely intelligent glint. He loves when you ask about his world, especially when you're genuinely trying to look past the intimidating luxury of it all.

"It's a mix of a few things, princess," he starts, leaning his forearms back on the table, completely closing the distance between you again. "Mainly, it’s tech acquisitions and venture capital expansion. If a massive tech start-up or an emerging AI infrastructure firm needs a billion dollars to go global, they come to my team. I dissect their entire operations, find the flaws, and rewrite their future. We acquire the companies that have potential, restructure them from the ground up, and absorb them into our portfolio."

He pauses, a slow, incredibly sharp smirk playing on his lips as he watches you try to process the sheer scale of what he casually calls a "day job."

"And when I'm not doing that? I'm handling sovereign wealth funds and risk management," he continues smoothly,  as his eyes lazily trace the line of your collarbone. "Essentially, foreign governments and massive old-money estates trust my firm to invest and protect their generational wealth. I sit in boardrooms and make decisions that dictate market trends before the public even knows they're happening. It’s high-stakes, highly volatile, and incredibly demanding."

He tilts his head, his gold eyes locking back onto yours with a sudden, devastatingly heavy warmth. "But it doesn't compare to the risk management I have to perform when my girlfriend shows up to lunch in a catsuit."

You roll your eyes playfully at his comment, your free hand slipping from the table to his thigh now that you’re close enough. “So... tech acquisitions, global asset restructuring, and keeping foreign governments rich. Got it,” you pause gaze shifting to the open skies and then back to him. “ Is it bad of me to say that I’m happy to hear that when you see me you actually consider risking it all?” 

Zuko’s breath catches, the steady, rhythmic movement of his hands instantly halting at your soft confession. Your palm is warm against the heavy fabric of his trousers, but it's your words that completely throw him off balance. For a long, unblinking moment, the powerful executive who dictates market trends for a living looks completely defenseless. 

He doesn't answer you right away. He just stares at you, his burning gold eyes searching your face, tracing the curve of your lips, before snapping back to hold your gaze with a heavy, unblinking gravity. “No,” he responds softly. His large, warm palm slides down off the table, his fingers spreading wide as he firmly covers your hand on his thigh, squeezing your fingers with a possessive, deeply grateful certainty. 

Your smile grows, practically taking over your features as you beam at him. “Good, and just to be clear, I too look at you and consider risking it all. Hell, on my walk up here I had to remind myself we were going to be in public, you have work to return to, I have errands to run and it was like a mantra in my head because if I let myself forget that—I would be slipping underneath this table cloth and getting active–BUT–I’m a lady and I should be able to hold myself back despite dating a GQ model…A prince of a man, ugh…it’s hard being a functional member of society,” 

Zuko just stares at you, his hand still firmly clamping yours against his thigh, completely frozen by the absolute whirlwind of your words. For a second, his brain has to catch up to everything you just admitted, but as the image of you slipping under the tablecloth fully registers, a dark, dangerous flush creeps up his neck.

A  rich laugh suddenly rumbles from deep inside his chest—a sound so uninhibited and genuine it completely transforms his features.

"Active, princess?" he echoes smoothly, his gold eyes practically sparkling with absolute amusement and a terrifyingly heavy dose of affection. “Is that the modern term for it now? And here I thought you were just enjoying a nice, civilized lunch on a luxury terrace. Meanwhile, you're sitting beside me having a full-blown internal crisis. " 

You scoff softly and tilt your head in pure amusement. “Mmm…it’s one word for it. And the word crisis feels too miniscule. My entire control console does a system reboot every time I look at you. Don’t even get me started on when you start talking, it glitches like I’m in the matrix and I have to remind myself that I have self-control and human decency. Which brings me to the next point of discussion: while I inadvertently gas you up, does your brain not malfunction in my presence? Or am I just overly going for you?”

Zuko mirrors your head tilt. His fingers wrap tighter around your hand instinctively as your line of questioning pivots once again. "Overly going for me?" Zuko repeats, mind seemingly reeling as he tries to decode the language you’re throwing at him. 

“Yeah, like I’m just excessively eager or—” 

“No,” he states confidently, “not at all.” 

The absolute certainty in his voice completely halts your train of thought, leaving you blinking at him as the sheer magnitude of his denial settles over the table. 

"If anything," Zuko states, his rough voice dipping into a register so deep it feels like a physical pull to your core. "It's the exact opposite."

He lets go of your hand under the table, bringing his palm back above the surface to lean his forearms flat on the linen tablecloth, entirely crowding your space until his broad shoulders block out the rest of the terrace.

"You want to talk about your control console glitching?" he murmurs smoothly, a small, dangerous, and breathtakingly handsome smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Princess, I have spent the last twenty minutes trying to recall the exact financial metrics for a global acquisition proposal I am supposed to spearhead at two o'clock. And do you know what my brain keeps giving me instead?"

Your breath catches in your throat, your fingers tightening around the silver handle of your fork as you shake your head slightly, completely transfixed.

"It gives me the memory of how tight you were this morning," Zuko confesses bluntly, his eyes darkening into an absolute abyss as he tracks the sudden, erratic pulse drumming against the skin of your neck. "It gives me the sound of your voice when you're undone, and the way you look right now, sitting across from me in a public restaurant wearing a catsuit and telling me you want to go feral under the table."

Your thoughts completely empty all over again under his ruthless honesty.

"So no, you aren't excessively eager," he murmurs, his thumb reaching across the small distance to trace the line of your jaw, his skin warm and possessively firm. "My brain malfunctions the second you cross my line of sight, Y/n. But the difference between you and me, princess, is that I am highly practiced at operating under a crisis. Now, dessert is on its way and we have six minutes left before you need to head to the valet and I need to head to a boardroom.” 

You stare at him, your skin tingling where his thumb rests against your jawline, completely captivated by the definitive boundary he just drew. The seamless pivot back to the clock—reminding you that you only have six minutes left—sends a thrilling, frantic spike of adrenaline straight through you. He just threw your entire internal system into a tailspin, and now he's casually keeping you on schedule like the executive he is.

Before you can even pull together a response, the waiter reappears, cutting through the heavy air with a perfectly timed arrival. He sets down a sleek porcelain plate featuring a flawless, decadent chocolate lava cake, its center slightly molten and dusted with a delicate layer of powdered sugar, alongside two small dessert forks.

"The signature molten chocolate cake to share," the waiter announces warmly. "Can I secure anything else for you both before the bill?"

"Just the check, thank you," Zuko answers effortlessly. His voice is perfectly modulated, completely masking the fact that he just spent the last two minutes describing exactly how unraveled you make him.

The waiter bows his head and slips away to fetch the black leather presenter, leaving the two of you alone with the steaming dessert.

You look down at the rich chocolate, then back up at Zuko, a small, highly amused grin managing to fight its way through your dazed expression. You pick up one of the small silver forks, nudging your chair just an inch closer so your shoulder lightly brushes his.

"Six minutes," you repeat, a playful challenge bleeding into your tone as you slice off a small, rich piece of the cake. "You really are a stickler for a timeline.. Are you expecting me to eat a luxury dessert at lightning speed?"

Zuko picks up his own fork, a glint of pure satisfaction in his gold eyes as he watches you bounce back from his intense confession. "I'm expecting you to enjoy your afternoon with Suki and the girls without being late because of me," he counters smoothly, using his fork to claim a piece of the cake. "Consider it high-efficiency pampering. We have just enough time to share this, secure your car from the valet, and part ways like civilized adults."

"Civilized," you mumble around a bite of the rich, warm chocolate, the sweet flavor melting on your tongue. You lean in slightly, dropping your voice into a wicked whisper. "There is absolutely nothing civilized about what you're thinking right now."

He doesn't deny it. Instead, he places his fork down as the waiter slides the check onto the edge of the table. Zuko slips his black card into the leather folder without even looking at it, handing it right back to the staff with practiced elegance.

 “If I told you what I was thinking about beautiful, you’d ask me if I have plans on shooting an adult movie with you,” he jests, resting his hand on your thigh. 

You instantly choke on your next bite of chocolate cake, a startled, breathless laugh escaping your throat as your cheeks burn. You frantically grab your glass of water, taking a fast gulp to save yourself while your eyes stretch wide in absolute shock.

"Zuko!" you squeak, glancing around the empty terrace as if the nonexistent patrons could hear his utterly lawless mouth.

His large hand firmly squeezes your thigh under the tablecloth, his thumb rubbing a deliberate, burning circle into the fabric of your one-piece. He doesn't look even remotely ashamed of himself. Instead, he simply watches your chaotic reaction with a relaxed, immensely proud smile playing on his features.

"I'm just being honest, princess," he murmurs smoothly, checking his watch with effortless corporate grace. 1:50 PM. 

"I think our honesty is what’s getting one another in trouble,” you grumble, wiping your mouth free of any chocolate remnants as the waiter delivers the receipt in that familiar leather book.

He slips two hundred dollar bills behind the receipt with his signature before looking up and addressing your side comment.

"Trouble implies that I'm trying to avoid the consequences," Zuko counters smoothly, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifyingly confident intensity. He shuts the leather book with a decisive snap and slides it to the edge of the table. "I'm not. If anything, I am actively counting down the minutes until I can face them."

You exhale slowly at his remark, standing up carefully as he helps you up. He folds his jacket over his forearm and wraps an arm around your waist guiding the both of you to the main dining room. 

“The left side of the terrace was closed for a private party madam, but if you give us just a minute we can have it set up for you and your party of three.”  

The words faintly register in your ears as you allow Zuko to lead you to the opposite end of the dining room, completely parallel to the entrance you took. The attendant holds the elevator open, wishing the both of you a good day as it closes and shoots down to the lobby. Unlike the first elevator, this one is entirely see-through, allowing you to peer outside and see the hustle and bustle below.

You watch with utter fascination, and he watches you just the same.

The busy world below moves in fast-forward behind the glass, a dizzying blur of yellow cabs, busy crosswalks, and tiny figures rushing along the hot pavement. It’s a striking contrast to the quiet, untouchable bubble Zuko built for you up on that roof, and the visual has you completely transfixed.

But as you press close to the glass, you can feel the profound, unblinking weight of his stare burning into the side of your face.

You turn your head slightly, catching his reflection in the transparent pane before looking at him directly. He isn't looking out at the city skyline. He isn't checking his watch, and he isn't reviewing his mental notes for his two o'clock meeting. His gold eyes are fixed entirely on you, tracking the soft curve of your lips and the fascinated gleam in your eyes with a quiet, consuming hunger.

"What?" you ask, a small, breathless smile pulling at your lips as his arm tightens just a fraction more around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest.

"Nothing," Zuko says, his deep voice carrying right through you as the elevator smoothly drops past the mid-level floors. He rests his chin lazily against the crown of your head, his gaze never breaking from yours in the glass. "Just watching you."

You hum, “I have a comment, but I’m going to hold back due to wanting to respect the fact you seem to have a rather important meeting to run and if I say what I want to say—it will off center you.”

Zuko lets out a short, highly amused breath against your hair, his grip tightening around your waist until you are entirely pinned against his solid chest. The transparent elevator car flies past the upper third of the building, but his focus remains strictly locked onto your reflection in the glass.

"You think you haven't off-centered me already?" he asks, a knowing, lethal smile playing on his lips. "Princess, my focus was entirely shot the second you sat across from me at that table. If you have something to say, say it. Don't hide behind human decency now."

You tilt your head back against his shoulder, looking up at him through your lashes with a thoroughly unprincipled, wicked gleam in your eyes. “Your attention is the reason I’m soaked now…”

Without giving him a chance to process the confession, you turn completely in his hold. You wrap your fingers around his large palm, guiding his hand down past your waist until it rests firmly on your hip, hidden from any outside view by the heavy drape of your oversized layer.

Zuko holds your gaze, pupils dilated so far that the gold of his irises are almost gone. He moves with effortless ease, sliding his palm over the curve of your ass, down the back of your thigh, and slipping his long fingers right in between your legs to press firmly against the center of your frustration.

Your breath hitches into a sharp, silent gasp, your hands flying to his broad shoulders for balance as the undeniable heat of your underwear dampens his touch right through the thin fabric of your one-piece. He doesn't caress you. He simply presses his fingers flat against your core, confirming the absolute truth of your words while his eyes burn a hole straight through you.

Underneath his hand, your pulse is thudding frantically, completely at his mercy.

"Jesus, princess," Zuko strains out, his voice tight, carrying a demanding edge that tells you you've pushed him past the absolute point of no return. His jaw is clenched so hard the muscle ticks violently, his pristine corporate armor shattering into absolute dust right there in the descending car.

And as he presses a little harder, you bury your face in his chest to muffle the soft moan bubbling in your throat. His touch is slow and controlled, dragging his fingers through the mess he's made of you with nothing but pride in his eyes.

A soft chime echoes through the elevator, signaling the arrival to the lobby.

Zuko doesn't flinch. He keeps his hand firmly wedged between your thighs for two more agonizing seconds, his thumb giving you one last heavy, deliberate swipe that leaves you entirely breathless and trembling on your heels. 

You exhale shakily, lowering your hands till they rest on his waist. “I’m going to call on him soon too, I don’t have time to run home and change,” you note, giving his waist a squeeze and stepping back slightly to put some distance between you and the delectable scent radiating off of him. “Guess that just means I get to buy a whole new outfit,” you muse, trying to regather yourself as the heavy doors slide open. 

Zuko lets out a distinct, ragged breath, his hands sliding to his pockets as he forces his posture back into that of a disciplined, unbothered executive. But the dark, dangerous flush still lingering on his neck completely betrays him. His eyes track the slight sway of your hips as you step out onto the polished marble floor of the grand lobby, his gaze heavy with an intense, possessive focus.

"A whole new outfit," he repeats, his deep voice carrying a slightly rough, distracted quality as he falls into step beside you. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Make sure you charge it to my card, princess. Consider it an investment in my evening entertainment."

You clasp your hand around his arm as he matches your stride. “ I leave your card at home, those are emergency funds,” you note. 

"Emergency funds," Zuko repeats, the amusement in his voice sharpening into something distinctly proud. He slips his hand out of his pocket and placd it on your hip. "Buying a replacement outfit because I ruined your current one sounds like an emergency to me, Y/n."

The heavy glass doors glide open, and the thick afternoon heat immediately rolls over you, a stark contrast to the chilled air of the hotel lobby. The valet spots the two of you, his posture straightening instantly at the sight of Zuko. He holds the driver's side door of your idling car wide open, keeping his eyes politely trained ahead to give you two a modicum of privacy.

Zuko brings your walking pace to a halt right by the hood of the car, turning his frame to block you from the view of the valet and the passing traffic. He reaches into his pocket, his fingers emerging with a spare platinum card he always keeps on hand. Without a word, he slides it directly into the small, sleek handbag slung over your shoulder, his palm lingering on the leather for an authoritative second.

"Now it's an emergency fund you actually have on you," he states, his gold eyes locking onto yours with an absolute, non-negotiable intensity. "Use it. Buy whatever you want, take Suki wherever she wants to go, and don't think twice about the total."

You roll your eyes, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “You can’t keep spoiling me like this,” you grumble half heartedily. “It’s going to ruin my independence as a strong black woman…” 

“Mmm, I wouldn’t say that. I’d say, I’m allowing my beautiful girlfriend to exude her independence by being unlimited in whatever she wants to do," he counters smoothly, his tongue clicking faintly in disapproval at your grumbling. "There is a difference, princess. Besides, your independence is exactly what caught my attention in the first place. A piece of plastic isn't going to change that."

A soft, defeated laugh slips past your lips. It's completely impossible to argue with a man who uses high-level corporate logic to justify throwing ungodly amounts of money at you.

"You always have an answer for everything, don't you?" you muse, tilting your head up to meet his fierce, golden gaze.

"Only when it comes to getting my way," Zuko replies, a sharp, knowing smirk gracing his lips. He closes the remaining distance between you. His warm hand catches your jaw, his fingers tilting your face up as he leans down and seals his lips over yours.

It isn't a polite, public goodbye. It’s a thorough kiss that completely drives the breath from your lungs, his tongue sliding against yours just enough to remind you exactly who you belong to. The heat of the afternoon sun has nothing on the absolute fire rushing through your veins as he anchors you against him right there on the valet curb, utterly unbothered by anyone who might be watching.

When he finally pulls back, his thumb swipes lazily across your bottom lip, his gold eyes dark with desire.

You let out a shaky, airy laugh, your hands resting against his chest as you try to steady your trembling knees.

"You need to get in your elevator and go to your high-stakes meeting right now, Prince," you warn, your voice a velvety, dangerous murmur as you glance back at your idling car. "Because if you stay out here for even one more second, I am going to throw you into my backseat and make you retire for the rest of the day."

A clear, incredibly proud smirk breaks across Zuko’s lips, his eyes flashing with absolute delight at the threat. He takes a single step back, reluctantly letting his hand slide away from your skin, though his gaze remains pinned to you. 

"Go buy your outfit, princess," he states, his voice carrying a definitive promise as he finally turns back toward the cool glass doors of the hotel entrance. "Enjoy the dinner party. But don't think for a second you're off the hook just because you have plans tonight. I'll see you later."

You watch him walk away for a fraction of a second, admiring the effortless, commanding way he moves in his tailored suit, before turning to slide into the driver's seat of your car. As you pull away from the curb, your heart is hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, your skin still tingling from his touch. You reach over to check your bag, your fingers brushing against the cold platinum card he slipped inside.

Surely this will placate Suki’s anger for you being fifteen minutes behind schedule. 

The air inside the luxury boutique is crisp, smelling of expensive lavender and high-end silk, a massive contrast to the thick summer heat cooking the city sidewalks outside.

Suki is already standing near a rack of designer cocktail dresses, a manicured hand resting on her hip as she checks her watch. The second you slide through the glass entrance, her eyes lock onto you with a mock-stern expression.

"Fifteen minutes, pumpkin," Suki chides, a knowing grin instantly cracking her disciplined exterior. "Fifteen minutes of my life spent hiding from the sales associates who keep trying to hand me complimentary champagne. Care to explain what corporate emergency kept you?"

You don't say a word. Instead, you unzip your compact handbag, slide your fingers inside, and casually pull out the sleek, matte-black platinum card Zuko just forced into your possession. You hold it up between your index and middle finger, letting the gold lettering catch the boutique’s track lighting.

Suki’s jaw literally drops. She stares at the card, then looks up at your face, a dramatic gasp escaping her lips.

"Oh, shut up," Suki squeals, instantly lunging forward to inspect the plastic. "He did not. The Prince handed over the unlimited black card? Girl, what did you do to that man at lunch?"

"Consider it an emergency investment," you tease, a triumphant smile pulling at your lips as you guide her toward the back of the store where the dressing rooms are located. You lower your voice into a confidential whisper. "And honestly, it is an emergency. I can't even take off my oversized shirt right now because my current outfit is completely ruined underneath. Zuko made sure of that in the elevator."

Suki lets out a loud, chaotic cackle that echoes off the boutique's marble floors. " You’re a fiend for that man girl, I love it. I live for it,” she starts flipping through the garment bags with a purpose. 

“I’m down bad Suki, real down bad. Nine months in and I feel like I’m floating on air and walking on sunshine. It’s sick work he’s doing on me. Could be hoodoo, could be voodoo, could just be real out of this world dick, but I can’t confirm or deny just yet.”

"Alright, so our group golf lesson starts around 4:30, which gives us enough time to find dresses for tonight and cute gold sets. I’m aiming to look like Ralph Lauren, old money, pretty bitch, kind of vibe. As for Ming’s birthday dinner, we are heading to The Jade Pavilion," Suki announces, holding a stunning satin midi-dress up to your frame to gauge the fit. "Ming said she wanted high-end luxury vibes, so everyone is going to be dressed to absolute perfection. I think this place just opened its reservation books last month."

A sudden wave of recognition hits you, a dazed, incredibly fond smile taking over your features.

"Wait, The Jade Pavilion?" you repeat, your fingers tracing the smooth fabric of the dress Suki is holding. "Oh, you are going to love it, Su. I've actually been there with Zuko for a date night recently."

Suki halts her browsing, her eyebrows shooting up with immense curiosity. "Ooh, give me the layout. Is it actually worth the hype?"

"It’s incredible," you note, your inner confidence firmly in the driver's seat as you remember the layout. "The interior is gorgeous, but the real highlight is out back. They have an absolute masterpiece of a dance floor set up right in the backyard under the stars, and the main bar out there looks exactly like a luxury cabana. It feels like a private tropical estate hidden right in the middle of the city."

"A backyard dance floor and a cabana bar?" Suki repeats, her eyes sparkling with unbridled excitement. "Oh, the girls are going to love that! We must find something we can move and groove in, while looking fucking stunning. Ming is going to be in Jade, so we were thinking black with jade accessories? What do you think?”

You nod enthusiastically, moving over to the rack holding a majority of black dresses. “Sounds amazing. Zuko actually just bought me a pair of jade earrings and a necklace during Lunar New Year, and I’ve been waiting for another occasion to wear them.”

“Oh my goodness, yes! You looked so stunning wearing it for your job’s banquet!” She squeals, practically vibrating where she stands at how much fun and how amazing you all will be looking tonight. 

You pull a spectacular black silk slip dress from the rack, admiring the way the premium fabric glides over your fingers. But as you tilt your head to gauge the neckline, a sudden, highly practical realization hits your brain. You freeze, your expression turning distinctly sheepish as you look over at your best friend.

"Su, hold on," you say, clearing your throat as you carefully hang the dress back onto the bronze rack. "We have a slight logistical crisis to handle before I can even think about entering that fitting room."

Suki tilts her head, her manicured fingers pausing on a velvet hanger. "What's wrong, pumpkin? Found a dress that’s cute but doesn’t match the vibe?"

"No," you whisper, stepping closer into her space and dropping your voice into an entirely confidential register. "I can't try on a thousand-dollar silk dress right now. It would be dubious of me to try on clothes in this state... My undergarments are thoroughly soaked through, Suki. Zuko didn't just talk a big game in the elevator; his hand was wedged between my legs for half the ride down to the lobby."

Suki freezes for one spectacular second before letting out a loud, chaotic screech of laughter.

"Oh my god!" she squeals, slapping her hand over her mouth to try and control her unvarnished glee. "You are an absolute beast of a woman! A literal public hazard! Y’all have to do better as a duo. Come on."

She hooks her arm firmly through yours, completely abandoning the dress rack and pivoting the two of you toward the door that leads to an entirely different side of the high-end shopping store.

The boutique's private intimates salon is a sanctuary of quiet luxury, lined with satin-covered hangers holding delicate pieces of French lace and premium silk. Suki navigates the displays with the speed and precision of a woman on a military mission, matching a seamless black silk undergarment set with a chic, ultra-expensive casual daytime outfit to replace your ruined one-piece entirely.

"If we are doing a black dress with your Lunar New Year jade jewelry tonight, the foundation needs to match the blueprint," Suki declares, tossing the selections into your arms. "And you need a fresh outfit to wear for the rest of our shopping trip anyway. This is elite. Go change right now."

You take the fresh garments from her, slipping into the large, mirrored private stall. The relief of shedding the damp, ruined fabric you’ve been wearing since lunch is immediate. You step into the fresh, smooth silk undergarments and slide into a pristine, beautifully tailored new daytime outfit. The premium material flows beautifully around you, completely freeing you from the aftermath of the elevator encounter.

The sales associate gracefully handles the dilemma, wrapping your ruined one-piece into a discreet, beautifully scented designer shopping bag without a single look of judgment.

You step out of the stall, completely refreshed, and march straight to the register where Suki is already waiting with an incredibly devious grin stretching across her face holding two of your bags in her hand. One filled with a few pieces that cater to Zuko’s evening entertainment and the other the remnants of your previously stunning outfit.

You unzip your handbag, slide Zuko's sleek, matte-black corporate card out, and hand it to the cashier with practiced elegance.

Click. The card swipes seamlessly through the register, the small screen flashing a quiet confirmation of the successful transaction for both the luxury undergarments and the brand-new replacement outfit.

You look down at your phone to check the time. 2:05 PM. Zuko's global acquisition proposal meeting started exactly five minutes ago.

"You do realize what you just accomplished, right?" Suki whispers, leaning her elbow on the marble counter as the cashier packs your fresh purchase into a glossy bag. Her eyes are dancing with pure, unadulterated entertainment. "That man is probably sitting in some boring ass meeting and just received a real time alert that his card was used at a boutique known for their lingerie. How do you think he’s holding up?”

A thoroughly triumphant grin spreads across your face as you slide the black card back into its secure slot in your wallet. The mental image of his reaction is absolute euphoria. His iron-clad armor is undoubtedly fracturing in front of his entire board of directors right now, his mind instantly racing to figure out exactly what you just bought to replace the outfit he ruined.

"He told me his brain malfunctions the second I cross his line of sight," you drawl smoothly, grabbing the shopping bag from the counter with a rascally twinkle in your eyes. "I can only imagine how his brain will stutter through processing this notification, but he insisted and I’m a good listener. Now that the emergency is solved... let's go find that dress for Ming's dinner and cute golf wear—which we will have to find at one of the stores across the street."

The rest of the shopping spree is a mix of chaos and fun, all bundled into an hour-and-a-half time block. The two of you hop from boutiques with price tags y’all would never entertain in a normal setting, to your go-to places when in need of a good outfit in a pinch. It’s a beautiful balance of girls gone wild and girls on a mission.

Time seems to work in your favor as you both manage to leave an exact one-hour window for getting ready—that doesn’t include travel time. Your apartment becomes a whirlwind of showers, make-up, and getting-ready music.

When you both finally emerge from your respective styling sessions, the "old money, pretty bitch" country club vision is fully realized.

You’ve completely stepped into the aesthetic. You’re wearing a crisp, white tennis skirt that sways effortlessly with every sway of your hips when you walk, paired with a sleeveless, modestly cropped v-neck top. To tie the whole Ralph Lauren look together, you’ve draped a soft pastel-pink sweater casually over your shoulders, the sleeves loosely knotted at your chest.

Suki steps out right behind you, looking equally elite but in a silhouette that perfectly fits her vibe. She’s opted for a athletic white pencil skirt that hugs her frame, paired with a sleeveless, high mock-neck cream top. Draped over her shoulders is a vibrant red sweater featuring a cream bear knitted right on the back, adding the perfect touch of high-society playfulness to her clean look.

"Oh, the country club is absolutely not ready for us," Suki declares, checking her reflection in your hallway mirror with a shit-eating grin.

You laugh, grabbing your bag and keys as you head for the door. "For sure, may not know what we’re doing, but at least we look damn good."

The drive is relatively smooth as you head to the wealthy side of the downtown district, coasting past Saks Fifth Avenue, past the luxury hotels, and through the financial district. The country club sits right at the edge of the harbor, overlooking the water. 

You valet park the car, smoothly slipping the red ticket safely into your purse beside Zuko's black card. Walking inside, you and Suki enter the grand lobby of the country club and immediately spot Ming and the rest of the girls. The second they clock your outfits, the entire group erupts into a flurry of squeals and excitement, ecstatic to finally kick off the afternoon. Ming can barely contain herself as she hypes up the itinerary, reminding everyone that they secured a private lesson with a touring professional golfer who is currently sitting right on the PGA leaderboard. 

Ming grabs you and Suki by the forearms, her bright, celebratory energy anchoring the group as she guides you all toward a shaded, private pavilion just off the main clubhouse.

"Okay, everyone, pay attention," Ming chirps, clapping her hands together to gather the focus of the six girls in total. "This is Master Instructor Eric. He actually qualified for the PGA leaderboard last season and is working overtime to do so again this season, so please do not embarrass me by launching a club into the harbor."

Eric steps forward with an easy, professional smile, looking effortlessly athletic in his tailored Royal Crest polo. "Welcome, ladies, and happy birthday, Ming. We're going to get you set up with some premium rentals at the pro shop first, and then we'll head down to the private tier of the driving range to look at your baseline posture."

The group migrates to the club's exclusive gear room, where the staff meticulously pairs each of the six girls with a high-end, lightweight set of graphite-shaft clubs. Suki slides a sleek, leather-wrapped driver out of her rented bag, testing the weight with a practiced, athletic tilt of her head.

"Alright, the prettiest women in this establishment are officially all armed," Suki murmurs near your ear, adjusting the red Polo Bear sweater draping her shoulders. "Let's see if we can actually hit the ball or if we're just here to look rich."

"We are doing both, obviously," you whisper back, checking your lip gloss in the reflection of your driver's polished clubhead before following the group out onto the grass.

Down at the private tier of the driving range, the setting is completely elite. The midday sun reflects beautifully off the water at the edge of the harbor, the salt air blowing a gentle breeze that makes your white tennis skirt sway smoothly against your hips as you walk. Eric sets down a large basket of premium golf balls and positions a glossy driver in front of Suki first.

"Alright, let's start with the baseline stance," Eric instructs smoothly, stepping in closer to adjust Suki's grip on the rubber handle. His guidance is light and encouraging. "Keep your shoulders loose, hips square, and let the momentum do the work. Don't force the swing."

Suki shifts her weight with a dancer's natural grace. She takes a clean, fluid swing—the crisp, echoing crack of the ball vibrating across the empty range as it sails straight down the center of the fairway.

"Look at that! Perfect extension," Eric praises, flashing her a brilliant grin before turning his attention fully to you, setting a fresh ball onto the rubber tee. He steps into your personal space, his hand gesturing toward the alignment of your stance. "Your turn, Y/n. Let's see how you handle the driver. Just mimic her hip rotation."

You step up to the plate, adjusting the drape of your pink Ralph Lauren sweater. As you grip the leather handle of the driver, a sudden, lingering tingle between your thighs serves as a very vivid reminder of the elevator ride from lunch. You clear your throat, forcing your focus back to the golf ball, and take a deep breath to square your shoulders.

"Don't overthink it, Y/n," Ming calls out from the seating area, where the rest of the girls are sipping iced drinks and cheering. "Show the pro what we're working with!"

You chuckle, adjusting the grip of the leather handle in your palms and shifting your weight. The white tennis skirt swishes playfully against your thighs as you look down at the bright white ball.

"Alright, let’s see," you murmur, leaning into the stance Eric showed you. You twist your torso, drawing the driver back with a steady, calculated focus, before swinging forward with all the natural momentum you can muster.

Thwack! The ball lifts off the tee in a high, dramatic arc, slicing beautifully through the crisp harbor air before bouncing hard and rolling deep into the secondary cut of the fairway. It’s not quite as straight as Suki’s shot, but the sheer distance has the peanut gallery on the lounge chairs cheering instantly.

"Oh, okay, power hitter!" Ming squeals, raising her glass of iced tea toward you. "Zuko clearly isn't the only one in that relationship who can hit something right!"

You let out a rich laugh, resting the head of the driver on the grass as a sudden warmth blooms in your cheeks. If only they knew what was occupying your thoughts right now.

Eric nods in genuine approval, walking over to reset the tee for the next girl. "Excellent power, Y/n. Your hip rotation is incredibly fluid—honestly, if you just tweak your wrist alignment by a fraction of an inch on the follow-through, you'll have a perfect straight shot."

"Hear that, Su? I've got power," you tease, casting a rascally look over your shoulder at your best friend, who is currently leaning against her own club like a seasoned veteran.

"Mmhmm, we all know you're great at handling an impact, pumpkin," Suki fires back smoothly, her voice a low, highly confidential murmur meant just for you as she adjusts the red Polo Bear sweater on her shoulders. "But let's see if you can keep that same energy when we move to the putting green. That's where the real precision comes in."

For the next forty-five minutes, the driving range is an absolute symphony of clinking clubs, bad swings, chaotic laughter, and celebratory cheers. Out of the six girls, at least two manage to accidentally launch a divot of grass further than the actual ball, sending the entire group into fits of breathless giggles. Eric handles the chaos like a true professional, giving pointers on stance and grip while thoroughly enjoying the vibrant, high-energy rhythm of your circle.

"Alright, ladies, that wraps up the baseline clinic," Eric announces with a brilliant, charming smile, wiping his hands on a club towel. "You all did fantastic. Ming, happy birthday again. I expect to see you all back here testing the club championship grid next season."

"Only if you're the one pouring the champagne at the finish line, Eric!" one of the dancers shouts back, prompting a chorus of laughter from the group as you all begin packing up your high-end rentals.

The group migrates from the driving range to the starting tee box, where the real chaos of the afternoon officially begins. Playing a scramble format to keep things moving, the six of you turn the pristine, quiet fairways of the Royal Crest into an absolute playground. It’s a beautiful, sun-drenched blur of Suki managing surprisingly clean iron shots despite the aesthetic constraints of her tight athletic pencil skirt, Ming accidentally driving a ball directly into a sand bunker, and the entire group cheering whenever a putt actually sinks.

By the time you reach the midpoint of the seventh hole, the afternoon heat has fully settled in, and the collective thirst of the group is reaching a critical level.

"Okay, if I don’t get something iced and sparkling in my system within the next five minutes, I am going to pass out right here on the fringe," Ming groans, using her visor to frantically fan her flushed face as she collapses onto a shaded bench by the green.

You shield your eyes against the sun, scanning the rolling green hills behind you. "Didn't Eric say there was a refreshment cart doing rounds today?"

"We completely missed her," Suki notes, checking her phone as she adjusts the vibrant red Polo Bear sweater still draped flawlessly over her shoulders. "I saw the cart girl coasting past the fifth hole when we were putting out, but she was going entirely too fast. She's long gone by now."

You look over at Suki, a devious, rascally twinkle instantly returning to your eyes as you look down at your cream handbag, knowing exactly who is sponsoring the day's hydration. "Well... the main clubhouse patio is only a short walk back past the hedge line. What do you say, Su? Want to go on a rescue mission for the group?"

"Absolutely," Suki agrees instantly, a triumphant grin breaking across her face. "Girls, hold our spot. Your captain and honorary teammate  is going on a beverage run."

Leaving the other four girls to debate the logistics of Ming's next chip shot, you and Suki leave your rented golf bags by the green and stroll down the paved path. The white tennis skirt sways effortlessly with every movement of your hips as you walk, the soft pastel-pink sweater bouncing gently against your shoulder blades as the harbor breeze carries the crisp scent of the ocean water across the lawn.

The outdoor pavilion bar at the main clubhouse is the epitome of gate-kept, old-money luxury. White columns support a shaded pergola, and wealthy patrons in pristine linen sets are murmuring quietly over midday cocktails. You stride right up to the polished mahogany counter, your cream kitten heels clicking softly against the flagstone flooring.

"Hi, good afternoon," you greet the bartender smoothly, resting your forearm on the cool surface. "We missed the course cart, so we're looking to grab a round of refreshments for a group of six out on the seventh."

"Of course, ma'am," the bartender responds with a well-trained, elite hospitality smile. "What can I get started for you?"

"Let's do six of your signature sparkling lavender-lemon mocktails," you instruct, offering a bright, effortless smile. "And make sure they're in the travel cups with plenty of ice, please. Oh, and six waters as well."

As the bartender turns to begin muddling the fresh lavender and pouring the sparkling soda, Suki leans her elbow on the bar beside you, looking around the pristine, white-brick terrace with immense satisfaction.

"I have to admit, the vibe here is elite," Suki whispers, a low cackle escaping her throat as she watches a group of older men in matching golf caps look over at the two of you. "We don't even know our own handicaps, but walking in here looking like a Ralph Lauren catalog while ordering top-shelf mocktails on Zuko's dime? It's sick work we're doing today, Y/n. Truly inspiring."

"He insisted I consider his card an emergency fund," you drawl back, a thoroughly smug, pleased grin playing on your glossed lips as you reach into your bag and casually slide the matte-black plastic between your fingers. "And ensuring my best friends don't suffer from dehydration at a country club seems like a massive emergency to me."

"A humanitarian, honestly," Suki teases, doing a little celebratory shimmy right there by the bar stools.

The bartender returns, carefully arranging six beautifully condensed, frosted travel cups into a secure carrying tray. The sparkling lavender drinks look incredibly refreshing, tiny bubbles rising to the top around fresh lemon wheels. Beside them, he places a secondary carrier holding six artisanal, heavy glass water bottles—a ridiculous display of luxury for plain H2O that makes your and Suki’s eyebrows rise in pure amusement.

"Whenever you're ready, ma'am," the bartender states, presenting the digital payment screen.

You slide Zuko's sleek black card across the counter with practiced elegance, watching the screen flash a quiet, successful confirmation. 5:55 PM. You check your own phone screen, completely satisfied by the timeline. Zuko should be comfortably at home by now, probably prepping for his evening run. 

Suki leaves two twenties on the mahogany counter as a cash tip, and from there, it becomes a high-stakes balancing act to securely get the massive tray of beverages back to your group of chaos out on the fairway.

The tray of condensed lavender mocktails and heavy glass water bottles are an instant hit, the six of you huddled around the golf carts laughing and re-energizing as the golden hour sun begins its slow, gorgeous descent over the harbor. Refreshed and running on pure best-friend momentum, the group sinks right back into the rhythm of the game. The energy is light, competitive, and loud, your white tennis skirt catching the warm evening breeze every time you step up to rotate your hips through a clean iron shot.

But as the scramble format guides your group closer to the coastal edge of the ninth hole—right where the manicured grass meets the stone harbor retaining wall and lines up parallel with the paved golf cart paths—the breezy, celebratory air of the afternoon completely stalls.

The low, high-end electric purr of a custom golf cart approaches from the club’s private terrace path, cutting right through the sound of the crashing waves.

Suki is the first to freeze, her hand loosening on her putter as her eyes track the vehicle pulling up onto the gravel shoulder right beside your green.

You turn your head, shielding your eyes against the blinding amber glare of the setting sun, and instantly clock the sleek, pristine cart. Behind the wheel is Ty Lee, her vibrant pink visor matching her bright energy as she brings the cart to a sudden halt, waving aggressively at your group with a massive, entirely conflict-free smile.

"Oh, look, Ty Lee," a chillingly smooth, dangerously calculated voice slices through the salt air as the passenger door clicks open. "It seems the shallow end of the pool has officially migrated to the harbor tier."

Azula steps onto the grass with practiced, lethal elegance. She is dressed to absolute perfection in a tailored, crimson tennis skirt set, a pristine white visor casting a sharp shadow over her cat-like eyes as she gracefully twirls a high-end driver between her manicured fingers.

But it’s the third figure sitting in the back of the cart that makes your eyebrows rise in silent curiosity.

Leaning heavily against the leather armrest, looking utterly bored out of her mind as she flips through her phone, is a girl you’ve never seen a day in your life. She’s dressed in a sharp, dark linen blazer over a minimalist black top, her sleek hair pinned back with total high-society precision. She radiates a heavy, untouchable layer of dark, old-money apathy—very detached, very dangerous, and completely unimpressed by the entire layout of the country club.

“First you ruin our afternoon by making my sorry brother rent out the entire terrace, and now you’re staining my sacred grounds by making me wait until you and your little friends are done acting as if this is a jungle gym," Azula drawls, her golden eyes locking onto yours with demanding intensity as she stops at the edge of the turf. "Does your impudence know no bounds, or do you just like playing with fire?”

Your grip tightens around the puck until your nails dig crescents into your palm. 

“Excuse the hell out of you?” One of the girls calls out from over your shoulder, her voice firm and full of bite. 

Before Azula can even pivot her sharp gaze to track the new voice, Suki steps right up to the edge of the green, casually resting her driver over her shoulders as she looks down at the girl in crimson. Her shit-eating grin is entirely gone, replaced by a cold, untouchable calm.

"You can either wait like a good dog, or you can go bark to somebody else," Suki states smoothly, her voice carrying clear across the quiet harbor lawn. "We're in the middle of a round."

“Suki. Tell me, is Sokka still putting off setting a wedding date because his mother’s ring doesn't quite fit a girl from the ghetto side of the city? Or is he just realizing he can do better than a glorified lightweight?”

The hairs on the back of your neck bristle and the air feels as if it stills completely. The words come out faster than anyone else can compute as you take two large steps forward, crowding Azula's space.

“I’m begging you to repeat that so I can use your head for my next hole-in-one.”

“I see he’s dating so far out his flavor profile, he’s reached the realm of other.” The voice is dry and desolate of emotion, but it gains your attention as you shift your focus to the woman in dark colors. 

You don’t know her. You’re sure of it, but you can recognize a bitter tryst with ease. 

Your smile turns sickly sweet, your head tilting with a predatory grace as you look past Azula and lock your gaze directly onto the girl in the dark blazer.

"And you must be the background noise," you drawl, your voice dropping into a smooth, velvety register that completely cuts through the salt air. "I'd tell you to mind the business that pays you, but judging by how much free time you have to sit in the back of a golf cart and analyze my man's taste, it looks like you're currently unemployed."

Mai’s thumbs instantly freeze over her phone screen.

For a fraction of a second, the heavy, untouched apathy masking her features completely slips. Her head cocks to the side, and a single, sharp eyebrow raises with a sudden, unmistakable flicker of genuine interest. No one in their social circle ever dares to swing back at them with that level of unbothered, lethal precision—let alone look Mai dead in the eyes and dismiss her as a seasonal distraction.

"Oh, wow...Mai" Ty Lee squeaks from behind the steering wheel, her eyes darting between the two of you in absolute, wide-eyed panic as the entire green turns into a complete pressure cooker.

Azula lets out a scoff that lands somewhere in the realm of amusement and disgust. “Let’s be entirely clear, darling. You can wrap yourself in Ralph Lauren and flash a piece of plastic with my family's last name on it, but you are nothing more than an exotic weekend distraction. When the board meetings conclude and the legacy matters, he will dump you right back into the shallow end where he found you.” 

 You inhale sharply, the breath hitching in your throat as the next insult meets your ears. 

“She’s right. Men of his caliber don’t marry the help. They sleep with them in hotel rooms, buy them lingerie to keep them quiet, and then marry women whose names are actually on the buildings. You’re a placeholder until I decide to stop ignoring him,” it’s spoken with such detachment and objectification that it leaves you stunned. 

Your jaw muscle twitches from how hard you’re clenching. Your brain is working a mile a second, the hot rage in your chest warring violently with the logical, pragmatic editor inside you. You have a career. You have a life. You have far too much to lose to let two miserable, elitist trust-fund securements drag you down into a public country club brawl.

You swallow your pride roughly, forcing a breath deep into your lungs as you consciously drop your shoulders. You look Azula and the unfamiliar woman dead in the eyes, your expression smoothing into a look of unbothered pity.

"You know what? I'm not even going to give you the satisfaction," you state smoothly, your voice ringing clear and steady over the course. "We came out here to celebrate, not to entertain a couple of bitter spectators who have nothing better to do than obsess over us from a golf cart. Let's go, girls. They aren't worth the energy."

You turn your back on them, pivoting your heels to lead your friends back toward the game. It is a flawless execution of maturity—a definitive choice to walk away with your head held high.

But Azula’s ego cannot handle a peaceful exit.

A sharp, sudden movement cuts through the air behind you, followed by the wet, aggressive splat of liquid hitting the manicured turf just inches from your white tennis skirt. The remaining sticky green droplets of her iced matcha splash across the grass, a few rogue spots dampening the hem of Suki's pristine pencil skirt.

The air stalls completely. Your voice of reason shatters into absolute dust. You freeze in your tracks, your spine turning to ice as you slowly look down at the green puddle, and then back up at the girls.

Before you can even take another step, the heavy silver of a golf club head clicks sharply against the turf behind you.

"Just so we are entirely clear," Ming’s voice rings out from over your shoulder, completely stripped of its birthday cheer and dripping with a precariously, protective octave. "I have bail money sitting in my savings account right now, and I am more than willing to take this as far as you ladies want to go after this amount of disrespect."

On either side of you, the other four dancers instantly close ranks, their athletic frames shifting into a unified, unyielding wall of physical defense. Suki steps right into the space between your group and the edge of the turf, her driver resting loosely in her palms as her eyes lock onto Azula with lethal certainty.

"You have but three seconds before shit hits the fan," Suki states, her voice an frigid, dangerous warning that makes the entire harbor green feel dead silent. "Three seconds before we become completely unaccountable for our next course of actions. Start counting."

Suki doesn't even make it to two.

The instant the final warning leaves her lips, the stalemate completely shatters. One of the dancers over your shoulder doesn't hesitate for a fraction of a second—she steps forward and chucks her entire heavy, condensation-beaded lavender mocktail directly at Azula's face. The sticky, ice-cold liquid hits her squarely across her crimson top, completely ruining her pristine high-society look in a split second.

Before Azula or Mai can even register the shock, two of the other dancers actively sprint around the flank, bypassing you entirely. With synchronized, savage precision, they uncap their remaining travel cups and pour the sticky lavender syrup and heavy ice directly over the leather seats and custom dashboard of the luxury golf cart itself.

From there, things turn south in an absolute heartbeat.

The entire green erupts into a violent, chaotic array of movement between the two factions. White tennis skirts and crimson athletic wear blur together as hands are thrown, shoulders collide, and golf clubs are dropped onto the turf. Ty Lee completely loses her mind, caught in a frantic, split-second panic as she oscillates wildly between desperate peacemaker and active opposition. One second she’s throwing her hands up, begging everyone to stop, and the next she’s instinctively ducking a swinging arm or putting up a defensive guard to push a dancer back as the brawl spills off the grass and right onto the gravel path.

The sharp, authoritative blast of security whistles finally cuts through the salt air as a squad of Royal Crest country club guards descends on the harbor point, desperately forcing their way between the two groups to break up the melee.

But the damage is already done. Your group definitely got their hits in.

As you’re all finally separated and escorted off the lawn toward the main clubhouse, the physical aftermath speaks for itself. On your side, the six of you walk with your heads held high—every single one of you looking audaciously proud of the absolute havoc you just wreaked. Across the path, the opposition is a total disaster. Mai looks deeply annoyed, picking a piece of lavender mint off her dark linen blazer with pure disgust. Ty Lee is entirely flustered, frantically trying to fix her high ponytail. And Azula? Azula looks completely, unhinged-ly pissed, her crimson tennis set stained with sticky syrup, her golden eyes burning holes into your back.

As the guards lead your faction down the long, white-brick corridor toward a private holding room, you don't waste a single second. Matching Suki's stride, you quickly unzip your cream shoulder bag. You slip your fingers past Zuko's platinum card, slide your phone out, and keep it low against your tennis skirt.

With your heart still hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, you quickly fire off an emergency SOS pin drop to the main group chat consisting of you, Suki, Sokka, and Zuko.

[Location Pin: Royal Crest Country Club - Security Management Suite] you: Golf has been compromised. Bring bail money.

You shove the phone back into your bag just as a guard opens the heavy mahogany door, ushering all six of you into a small, plushly carpeted boardroom to begin recounting the incident.

“Head of security and our club Assistant VP of Club Operations will be in to obtain your statement and inform you of next steps, but ladies, this is not how we conduct ourselves at Royal Crest,” the security guard chastises, a look of distaste overshadowing his features as he turns around. 

The second the heavy mahogany door clicks shut behind the guard, leaving the six of you alone in the quaint holding room, the tense silence completely disintegrates. The room bursts into an absolute, rambunctious symphony of overlapping voices, breathless laughter, and pure adrenaline as the girls instantly begin a wild, chaotic retelling of the entire incident. 

"Oh my god, did you see her face?!" Ming squeals, completely throwing away her birthday visor onto the glass coffee table as she does a celebratory victory lap around the carpet. "When the mocktail hit her right in the chest? I thought her fake old-money soul was going to leave her body!"

"And the golf cart!" another dancer howls, leaning against the wall and clutching her stomach from laughing so hard. "We literally drowned the leather seats in sticky syrup and ice. That custom dashboard is never going to recover!"

Suki drops her driver into the corner of the room with a satisfying clatter, a massive, triumphant grin finally breaking across her face as she shakes out her shoulders. She looks over at you, her eyes sparkling with that fierce Kyoshi pride. "Y/n, those two large steps you took toward Azula? Absolute cinema. I thought you were actually going to take her head off with that iron."

"She asked if my impudence knew no bounds, so I had to show her the boundaries," you laugh, finally letting out the breath you've been holding as you sit down at the table.

"But the audacity!" Ming counters, her voice dropping into a mocking, high-society drawl as she mimics Azula's posture. "'Staining my sacred grounds.' Who talks like that? It’s a public-adjacent fairway, you miserable reptile!"

"And that girl in the dark blazer" another girl chimes in, tossing her hands in the air. "Saying men of Zuko's caliber buy lingerie to keep people quiet? The absolute projection! And another thing, like how obsessed over this man are you to even know what his lunch plans were?!"

The chaotic laughter continues to echo around the small room, but the sound suddenly blurs into distant static as that final question hits your brain like a physical jolt.

How did they know?

Your mind instantly races backward, rapidly relaying through the events of the afternoon until you're standing right back in the warm, dim luxury of the hotel restaurant. You remember the heavy weight of Zuko's hand on your waist, guiding you out, and the faint, hushed words of the restaurant attendant that you had barely paid attention to at the time:

“The left side of the terrace was closed for a private party madam, but if you give us just a minute we can have it set up for you and your party of three.”

The memory snaps into focus with terrifying clarity. The party of three. The left side of the terrace.

Those bitches, and adorable Ty Lee were there this afternoon. What are the fucking odds? 

You shake your head, laughing quietly at the irony before focusing back on the room.

The room is a brilliant, buzzing vacuum of high-energy hype, all six of you completely unified and audaciously proud of the chaos you just unleashed. Every time someone reconstructs a specific punch thrown or a cup poured, the room erupts all over again, entirely unbothered by the fact that country club management is currently outside trying to untangle the legal paperwork. 

The heavy mahogany door clicks open, instantly freezing the high-energy laughter inside the room.

The head of security enters first, his bulky frame projecting an imposing, no-nonsense authority. Right on his heels is the Assistant VP of Club Operations—a man meticulously dressed in a tailored navy blazer, his hair slicked back, and an expression of profound corporate annoyance resting on his face.

The power dynamic shifts in the room immediately. You can see it in the way the AVP looks at the six of you, his eyes scanning your rumpled tennis outfits with an unmistakable layer of classist disdain. Azula and Mai are high rollers here; their families represent legacy memberships and multi-million-dollar endowments to the Royal Crest network. To management, you are six unknown outsiders who just systematically dismantled their pristine clubhouse peace.

"Alright, ladies," the Assistant VP begins, his tone dripping with condescending, gate-kept authority as he folds his arms. "I've already taken a full statement from Miss Ryu and Miss Morishita. Needless to say, destroying a customer’s club asset and launching beverages at premium tier members is a direct violation of our charter. We are looking at significant property damage to the golf cart, and frankly, a blatant assault charge."

The head of security steps forward, pulling out a small notepad. "We're going to need each of your legal names, identification, and the primary account holder associated with your guest passes today. The club will be pursuing full financial restitution, and depending on the statement verification, local law enforcement is already on standby."

Ming’s jaw drops, her defensive birthday energy instantly flaring back up, but Suki catches her forearm with a tight, grounding grip, her eyes narrowing at the blatant favoritism happening right in front of you. They’ve already taken Azula’s side without even asking for your version of the story.

You press your fingers to the bridge of your nose, feeling the start of a headache brewing, but no guilt, no second- guessing at all. You’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. 

“I just think it’s real funny, how–” Suki’s words are cut short as a sharp, commanding knock rattles the heavy mahogany door.

Before the security guard can even reach for the handle, the door swings open to reveal a sight that completely upends the power dynamic in the room.

Zuko leads the charge, stepping into the small holding suite like a man who owns the foundation it was built on. He looks effortlessly elite, dressed in a pair of tailored linen pants and a matching crisp button-up shirt—clearly interrupted right in the middle of preparing for his evening routine. Right behind him is Sokka, still in his sharp work attire, consisting of a button-up shirt and slacks, his face set into an unusually grim, fiercely protective mask the second his eyes sweep over the room to take in the girls.

But it’s the third man entering the room that makes the Assistant VP of Club Operations turn a sudden, ghostly shade of white. Walking a step behind Zuko, looking sweaty and deeply apologetic, is the country club's actual, executive Vice President.

The room holds its breath. Zuko stands at the epicenter of the space, his commanding presence immediately rendering the AVP and the head of security completely small.

"Is everyone okay?" Zuko poses the question to the entire room, his voice a smooth, low baritone that carries a terrifyingly quiet authority.

Though his question is for all six of the girls, his steadfast gaze locks immediately onto you. His golden eyes drop to trace the slight rumple of your pink sweater, inspecting you for any actual damage, before rising back to meet yours with a reassuring, unyielding focus.

Behind him, Sokka’s eyes instantly find Suki, his gaze lingering on the rogue green droplets of matcha dampening the hem of her athletic skirt, his jaw clenching hard enough to see the muscle jumping.

The club's Assistant VP scrambles forward, his previous condescending arrogance completely evaporating into frantic submission. "Mr. Ryu! Sir, we—we didn't expect you here personally. There was a highly volatile incident out on the ninth green involving property damage and your sister, and we were just attempting to get these young ladies' credentials—"

"I am the primary account holder for their passes today," Zuko cuts him off smoothly, not even turning his head to look at the man. He keeps his eyes entirely on you, a dark, dangerously protective smirk ghosting the corner of his lips as he registers your completely guilt-free expression. "And any financial restitution or legal statements regarding my sister's custom assets will go through my personal legal counsel. You all can step outside now."

The club's Vice President frantically gestures for the Assistant VP and the head of security to exit, both men scrambling out of the room so fast they nearly trip over their own loafers. The heavy mahogany door clicks shut with a soft, final snap, leaving just your group, Zuko, and Sokka in the room.

The atmosphere shifts instantly. Sokka immediately closes the remaining distance to Suki, his large hands gently cupping her elbows as he checks the hem of her skirt up close, murmuring a low, frantic question under his breath that Suki answers with a small, reassuring squeeze of his forearm.

Zuko doesn't say a word at first. He moves with a slow, commanding grace over to the head of the polished conference table. He sits down, looking every bit composed and effortlessly regal in his tailored linen. He casually crosses one leg so his ankle rests right on his knee, leaning back against the leather chair with his arms folded over his chest. He tilts his head slightly, taking in the group's chaotic appearances from this new angle.

The silence stretches, heavy and thick with his overwhelming presence. Underneath his hard, calculating stare, the girls instantly start to squirm, shifting their weight and suddenly finding the abstract paintings on the wall or the pattern of the carpet incredibly fascinating. Nobody wants to look him directly in the eye, fully anticipating him to rip them a new one for turning a luxury country club into an episode of bad reality TV. 

In the back row, one of the dancers leans an inch closer to Ming, her voice a tiny, barely audible breath. "Uh-oh... daddy's mad."

"Ow!" she whispers a second later, rubbing her ribs as Ming sharply elbows her in the side, giving her a frantic, wide-eyed warning look.

Zuko’s eyebrow twitches slightly at the whisper, but his expression remains an unreadable, stony mask as he just sits and listens. After a minute or two of the suffocating quiet, the collective anxiety in the room finally boils over, and all of the girls' voices start to intersect at once in a frantic, overlapping rush to explain themselves before he can blow up. 

"Zuko, look, they literally tracked us down—"

"Azula threw her drink first, I swear to god—"

"Dark and dreary said the most unhinged, atrocious things about Y/n—"

"We had to protect the vibe and our honor, it was self-defense—"

The frantic explanations bounce off the walls, the girls practically tripping over each other's words, looking entirely remorseful yet desperately hoping he understands why they did what they did. 

Zuko simply raises a single hand. The gesture is small, completely effortless, but the absolute authority behind it silences the entire room in a fraction of a second. Every mouth snaps shut, the girls holding their breath like students waiting for a detention lecture.

Zuko slowly shifts his gaze across the trembling lineup, his sharp golden eyes eventually stopping right on you. He simply raises an eyebrow, a tiny, rascally glint of amusement finally warring with the dangerous protective edge in his features.

"What happened to simply playing golf?" is his question.

You open your mouth to explain—to lay out the absolute legal, moral, and emotional justification for why Azula’s face needed to meet a lavender-lemon blend and the back of your hand, and then your jaw just snaps completely shut.

Beside you, Suki shifts on her cushion, her fierce athletic confidence instantly evaporating as she opens her mouth to present a tactical defense, only to freeze mid-breath. Her eyes dart to the ceiling, then back to the floor, and she snaps her mouth shut with a quiet, hollow click.

The two of you sit there, completely glitching in real-time as your adult brains desperately scramble and fail to compute a single logical, mature response to explain how a luxury golf clinic turned into a lawless turf war over a ruined drivetrain. From an adult standpoint, there is absolutely no defending the logistics of what just occurred on the ninth hole.

The lifeline to cut the silence comes from Ming, as she lifts her gaze to peer at Zuko through her lashes. Her cheeks are flushed, her white top disheveled, but she perseveres through the discomfort, squaring her shoulders and setting her jaw.

“We were playing… and we were doing really well! I mean, Suki was kicking our asses, Y/n was hitting long balls that may not have been headed for a hole-in-one, but for sure had some distance, and I was having a really good time celebrating my special day with my favorite girls” she states, her chest puffing out in pride as she remembers how the game started.

“—And that’s when things hit the fan, Mr. Zuko, sir,” one of the girls squeaks, her frame hiding behind Ming the moment his golden eyes turn to her.

You clear your throat, raising a hand to speak. “Golf was fun. We were having fun, and then the three clouds descended upon us—”

“And we tried to be adults! Tried to handle it like civil women, but what are you to do when words don’t work and your honor is being spit on?” Ming questions, her voice rising an octave as her birthday outrage flares back up. “They insulted Y/n and our captain—AND—more than fucking once,” she fumes.

Zuko shifts his weight slightly in his chair, his arms still folded tightly over his linen button-up. The suffocating, stony mask he wore when he first entered the room begins to fracture, a small almost indiscernible smile pulls at his lips as he looks from Ming's flushed face right back to you. The sheer absurdity of his high-society sister getting thoroughly jumped and covered in syrup by a pack of elite contemporary dancers on a gated country club fairway is clearly the best thing he’s heard all week. 

He uncrosses his leg, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the polished mahogany table, his eyes locked onto yours with an amount of adoration that completely melts the tension and dissipates what could have been a gnarly headache.

“So, just to make sure my baseline summary is correct,” Zuko begins, his words bleeding with amusement and affection. “My sister threw a tantrum, and in response, you stepped to her, threatened her head with—they tell me—a number three golf club, and let your girls dismantle her golf cart?”

You wiggle in your chair, unable to hold his gaze as the weight of the words land. There’s a hint of embarrassment brewing in the pit of your stomach the longer you’re able to sit with your actions. No regret though; again, you’d happily do it again—maybe with twice as much conviction and ferocity.

"That is the baseline summary, yes," you reply, staring intently at the shiny table.

“Mr. Zuko, sir? Will… will we be going to jail? It's okay if so, I–I just want to mentally prepare before the cops walk in,” someone squeaks from the back couch, her voice quivering but entirely certain of her impending criminal record.

Zuko lets out a quiet rich chuckle, the sound completely dismantling the lingering courtroom tension as he shakes his head at the terrified dancer.

“No one is going to jail tonight,” Zuko assures her, his smooth voice dropping the corporate hammer on the matter. “This is officially all wrapped up. My legal team is already handling the property damage assessment, and the club’s incident log is being wiped clean before morning.” He pauses, a rascally, teasing glint flashing in his golden eyes as he glances over the row of relieved, sad-puppy faces. “Though, for the time being, I’d highly suggest you ladies try a few of the other country clubs around the district. Royal Crest might need a season or two to recover from your…extracurriculars .”

A collective, massive sigh of relief ripples through the sofas, the dancers practically melting back into the leather cushions as the threat of a criminal record vanishes.

Zuko pushes back his chair and stands up from the conference table, his effortless, regal authority returning to his frame as he rolls his linen sleeves up one more notch. “Your vehicles are already waiting for you at the valet line up front. You all have a reservation at The Jade Pavilion to make in exactly two hours, so I suggest you get moving.”

The girls instantly start scrambling to grab their designer bags and rented visors, their high-energy birthday vibe snapping back into place in a heartbeat. But before you can even slide your phone back into your shoulder bag to join the exodus, Zuko’s gaze pins you right to your seat.

It’s an intense, heavy stare that completely locks you in place. Beneath the sheer weight of his focus, your knee automatically starts to bounce, your foot tapping a frantic, anxious rhythm against the plush carpet. You aren't full of regret, but sitting alone under his microscopic inspection after executing a country-club turf war is definitely a test for your nervous system.

Zuko catches the sudden movement of your leg, his eyes tracking the bounce before rising back to meet yours, an unreadable expression flashes across his features for a split second before locking back in.

“Sokka,” Zuko instructs evenly, not breaking eye contact with you for a fraction of a second. “Lead the girls up front and get them settled into their vehicles. We’ll be right behind you.”

“You got it, bossman,” Sokka says with a wide, triumphant grin. He wraps his arm around Suki’s waist, guiding her toward the corridor. “Alright, jailbirds, let’s move it. Valet is waiting.”

Ming throws a chaotic, ecstatic wave over her shoulder. “See you at the pavilion, Y/n! Zuko, you are literally a saint!”

The heavy mahogany door clicks shut behind the rowdy pack of dancers, their loud laughter instantly echoing down the white-brick hallway until it fades completely. The room plunges into a thick, absolute silence, leaving just you, the shiny conference table, and Zuko.

You can feel the absolute weight of Zuko’s presence pressing down on you as he slowly rounds the polished mahogany table, his steps entirely unhurried, his clean cologne cutting right through your fading adrenaline.

Your leg is practically drilling a hole into the country club carpet at this point, your fingers twisting the strap of your cream handbag. The adult embarrassment is officially peaking, and under the intensity of his golden eyes, your internal filter completely breaks.

"Okay, look, I know how it sounds," you blurt out, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a frantic, nervous rush before he can even open his mouth. "A number three is probably a lot of club, I know, but you weren't there, Baby. I was genuinely trying to be the voice of reason! I used my mature corporate voice, I told the girls they weren't worth the energy, and we literally turned our backs to walk away. But Azula—fucking demonic seed of your bloodline, she couldn't just let us leave with our dignity. She threw her matcha!"

Zuko stops right in front of your chair, his hands sliding casually into the pockets of his tailored linen pants as he looks down at you, his head slightly tilted, letting you dig your own grave.

"And I'm not apologizing for the golf cart either," you continue, your voice rising an octave as you ramble through the confession, looking everywhere in the room except at his face. "Because frankly, the things leaving their mouths were downright atrocious. Azula called me an exotic weekend distraction, and then her little emotionless shadow—I don't even know who that girl in the blazer was, by the way, but she has some serious boundary issues—she had the absolute audacity to say that men of your caliber buy lingerie just to keep the help quiet! She called me a placeholder until she decided to stop ignoring you!"

You take a deep breath, your shoulders dropping a bit as the raw gravity of the situation really settles into your chest.

“I–I love you, Zuko. I love you enough to swallow my pride when your sister and her minion insult me. I love you enough to think four times over before retaliating in a way that would tarnish your reputation. I let it slide when that dreary cloud called me an ‘other’, when your sister insulted my best friend's upbringing, when they called me ‘the help’—I really fucking tried. And I–I’m not sorry for hitting her. I’m not sorry for ruining her golf cart or her expensive clothes. In fact, if I ever catch her in the streets, I’m liable to execute street justice, but I am incredibly apologetic of how my actions reflect on you.”

You finally snap your mouth shut, inhaling a sharp, ragged breath as the echo of your own words bounces off the walls of the small room. Your face is burning, your heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your ribs as you stare intently at the polished table.

The secondary panic hits you almost immediately.

I love you. You said it. You actually just said it. Not over a romantic dinner, not in a quiet, intimate moment between the sheets, but blurted out in a breathless, heated rush while trying to justify a physical altercation. Your fingers tighten around your purse strap until your knuckles turn white, your inner filter screaming at you for letting your guards down completely.

You wait for the lecture. You wait for a corporate sigh, or a gentle, awkward shift in his posture as he tries to navigate the emotional landmines you just detonated on the carpet.

Instead, the room stays entirely quiet.

You force your gaze upward, expecting a hard, stern look. But the expression on Zuko's face makes you freeze completely.

The casual, amused look he had just a minute ago has entirely vanished, replaced by a rigid stillness that makes his jaw look like it was carved out of granite. His golden eyes are wide and completely locked onto yours, his chest rising and falling in expansions as the sheer magnitude of everything you just confessed filters through his brain.

He doesn't move a single muscle. He just stares at you, completely paralyzed by the unrefined, tenacious devotion you just laid at his feet, even while promising street justice.

"Y/n," Zuko finally breathes, his voice scraping into a quiet, raspy tone that vibrates right through the floorboards. He takes his hands out of his linen pockets, sliding your chair back just enough for him to carve a space for him to stand between you and the table. "Say that again."

You freeze; leg no longer bouncing, your hand releases the strap of your purse, and you stare up at him with confusion and uncertainty. 

"Say what?" you whisper, your voice barely clearing the space between you. Your mind is spinning, trying to untangle the multiple threads of your own outburst. Are we talking about the golf cart? The number three iron? The fact that you just promised a corporate executive that you might jump his sister in the street?

Zuko doesn't offer a single hint of amusement to bail you out. He comes down to your level, dropping to one knee right in front of your chair. The casual ease of his linen pants creases against the carpet as he places his large hands firmly on the armrests on either side of you, completely boxing you into his presence. Up close, his features serve as a distraction and comfort, his golden eyes searching yours with a  piercing clarity that demands absolute honesty.

"The part before you threatened my sister with street justice," Zuko clarifies, his gaze tracking the tiny, frantic movements of your eyes. "The part about why you tried to walk away."

Your breath catches. The realization of exactly what you let slip settles right into the center of your chest. The adult embarrassment flares up all over again, making your collarbone flush beneath your pink sweater, but you refuse to look away from him now.

"I said I love you," you murmur, the words coming out much steadier this time, stripped of the frantic, angry pace from a minute ago. "And I meant it. Mean it.  That’s why I didn’t just swing on her the second she opened her mouth. I just found out you’re rather…important and I knew that beforehand, but today I think I cognitively filed it away into the correct drawer when you spoke about what you do for work. And their words, just— I–I, oh god, " your brain does a mini-reboot as you try to connect your thoughts to your mouth “I–this is not how I wanted to tell you this,” you confess, closing your eyes briefly to see if that will help you slow your train of thought. 

When you open your eyes, you find Zuko exactly where you left him, his large hands still steady on the armrests, his posture patient and entirely unmoving. The panic of the verbal stumble is still buzzing in your ears, but the look he is giving you isn't judgmental; it is deeply focused, drinking in every single ounce of your unfiltered vulnerability.

The severe line of his jaw softens, a faint, incredibly tender look breaking through the protective shield he usually keeps up. He reaches out, his long fingers sliding up the side of your neck, his thumb resting gently against your jawline to anchor you. His touch is firm and grounding, single-handedly forcing your racing thoughts to a complete halt.

"Hey," Zuko says softly, his voice a clear, smooth tone that cuts right through your internal chaos. "Look at me."

You do, your eyes locking back onto his brilliant gold.

"It doesn't matter how it came out," he tells you, his thumb brushing over your skin with a reassuring, steady rhythm. A soft laugh slips past his lips and your eyebrows furrow in response. “I’m quite helplessly in love with you, princess. So much so I’m thinking of all the various ways I could fuck over Azula and her companions in a way that would calm the rage inside of me for their sheer audacity to even breathe in your direction.”

The admission leaves his lips with an absolute, crystalline certainty that makes your entire body relax, the last of your embarrassment evaporating on the spot. He isn't just accepting your messy confession—he is fully matching your frequency.

“Can you say that again?” you question, feeling the sting behind your eyes as his words wash over you and entirely cleanse away the messiness of the situation. 

The smile on his face makes your heart skip a beat. “I love you,” he states, before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I love you,” this kiss lands on your forehead. “I love you,” it’s placed right on the opposite cheek.

His lips ghost over yours, eyes radiant. “I knew I was going to love you the moment you cheekily walked out of Suki’s apartment after telling me my hair makes me look delectable. And my hunch was only solidified when you sat in my kitchen, dressed in my clothes, doing a happy dance because I successfully acquired you fries. I love you when you rub your freezing feet on me at night, when you dictate our television time and give me all the background knowledge I need to understand black cinema and Tyler Perry. I especially love you when you stick up for yourself, call me, and promise street justice on my bloodline.”

Your eyes flutter shut as the space between you disappears completely.

Zuko captures your lips in a kiss that is entirely different from the playful touches from a second ago. It is deep, unhurried, and consumerist in its intensity, carrying the full weight of every single word he just confessed. His hand slides from your jawline to cup the back of your neck, his long fingers tangling into the roots of your silk press to tilt your head perfectly against his, anchoring you to him as if you would even think about leaving.

The country club holding room, the threat of legal statements, and the lingering sting of Azula’s insults completely dissolve into absolute nothingness.

He tastes like his favorite rich, dark espresso, his lips moving against yours with a desperate, possessive hunger that takes your breath away entirely. You let out a soft, helpless sigh against his mouth, your fingers grip the soft linen of his button-up shirt just to keep your balance.

When he finally pulls away, he doesn't go far. He rests his forehead right back against yours, both of your breaths coming in shallow, uneven pants that fill the tiny space between your lips. Your head is spinning, your entire body feeling completely weightless and floaty, as if the carpet beneath your feet has simply vanished.

Zuko lets out a low, ragged breath, his eyes half-lidded and burning with a fierce satisfaction as he takes in your thoroughly dazed, breathless expression.

Your smile turns loopy, big and goofy. “So,” you murmur, leaning further into his touch. “Despite how much you love me, I know you’re a man of cause and effect. What are my consequences, Officer?” 

“You mentioned not wanting to go to this dinner tonight back at lunch, so I’m going to give you two choices, princess,” he murmurs, finally standing up and offering his large hand to pull you out of the chair. The intense, commanding authority returns to his frame the second you rise, his arm instantly wrapping around your waist to anchor your body parallel to his side.

“Choice one,” Zuko begins, his eyes radiating a devastatingly handsome, wicked glint as he looks down at your flushed face. “You attend the festivities with your girls, celebrate Ming's birthday, and whenever you are ready to come home, I will happily come and collect you. But I assure you, you won't be getting a single wink of sleep tonight.

"Or," he continues, his fingers pressing firmly into the small of your back, drawing you a fraction closer, "choice two. You get a headstart. You text the group chat right now and tell them you won't be making it—whether you tell them the real reason is entirely your choice. But you will be my exercise and outlet for the evening, seeing as I had to skip my actual workout, break several traffic laws just to keep you and your little ruffians out of official handcuffs, and received news that my sister disrespected you in a way that extends beyond me needing to give her a warning.”

You stare up at him, mouth agape at his two proposals. You clear your throat, nodding in agreement, “I’ll…I’ll let them know I’m paying off the Black Card and they’ll understand,” you mumble, wrapping your arm around his waist as he leads you outside of your temporary holding quarters. 

Zuko lets out an amused hum, “If that’s the case, cancel your weekend plans too. You didn’t spend nearly enough of your emergency funds for my liking, I think that’s punishable as well.” 

You squint, tilting your head back to peer at him incredulously, “ I–I, what kind of man wants to punish his girlfriend for not spending enough of his money?” 

A wicked smirk takes over his features, as the two of you pass through the empty corridors of the side entrance. “One that loves his girlfriend so much that he’s eager to leverage his amazingly steady tax bracket for her to live an unlimited lifestyle,” he states, oozing sheer confidence and certainty. 

“Get a load of this guy, you’re back to being a dictator, hmm?” you tease, welcoming the summer heat as the warmth welcomes you as you step outside from the stuffy atmosphere of Royal Crest.

“Only because my little tyrant returned,” he retorts, opening the door to his waiting BMW. He watches you with steadfast reverence. He leans over and buckles you in, crowding your space with the scent of him. 

You giggle, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he secures you, “you love this little tyrant,” you whisper, allowing your lips to brush against the shell of his ear. 

He lets out a huff of air, pulling back slightly to take in the unapologetic vigilante sitting in his passenger seat. “I’ll show you how much during the aftercare, princess, but fair warning, I do plan on completely wrecking your shit when we get home,” he places a kiss right on your nose as your mouth drops. 

Well, fuck. 

Fin

I've returned from the islands, and I am back to my regular scheduled programing. This was too much fun to write! Like I was kicking my feet in the airport typing this up with so much glee.

Since I'm back I will return to a regular uploading schedule, but because it's summer, I do be outside and I happen to work a 9-5, so if its late please be kind to me beloved!!! I'm learning balance.

Thanks for reading doll, let me know what you think!!!

Mack 💕