The sun sets low just above the horizon. Its blazing flames heating still, humid air, casting pink-gold hues over the earth as a final farewell before nightfall. 

Robust willow branches hang low in adjacent streams of water, seemingly drinking its subtle ripples, the slender foliage dipping beneath the surface that shimmers under remnants of the setting sun’s rays. 

The palace courtyard is almost motionless at this hour. Small creatures scurry to make their way to their respective homes, retiring for the night after a long, torrid day. 

A small smile graces his lips. It had been a grueling day for our beloved Fire Lord, who had come to this corner of the Fire Nation Palace to watch the sunset. 

This was the part of his days that he enjoyed the most. Watching the sunset had always filled his heart with an immense sense of peace he couldn’t find elsewhere. With the constant needs of his nation, he was never afforded the opportunity for alone time, not unless he demanded it, which of course he never did. 

Zuko’s smile widened. A low chuckle rumbles low in his throat. He takes in a deep, calculating breath and exhales slowly, feeling the expansion and contraction of his lungs, and the air that pulls in through his nostrils and out from in between his lips. 

He was at peace. 

His nation has had a slow, but significant recovery after the great war, and he had great allies in his friends, who were leaders in their own kingdoms and tribes, facilitating their construction and recoveries after the oppressive years they endured under the rule of his merciless father. 

All was well. 

Well enough, at least. 

Zuko had always felt that his life was similar to a glass house. Don’t touch it and all was well, come anywhere near it and it would shatter. 

It pained him not having either of his parents nor his sister in his life, broke him beyond words at the fact that they would never get to meet his precious baby girl, born only months ago. 

To him, his baby Izumi was all he had left to represent his bloodline. She was his pride and joy, all smiles and a fierce intelligence that far exceeded one so young. 

His heart fluttered at the thought of her. 

Zuko had grown so much since the beginning of his exile. Transitioning from banished prince to Fire Lord had forced the painful restoration of his dismantled mental health and self image. It was his friends, the fearsome gaang, that really helped shape him into the well renowned head of the Fire Nation he has become. 

With a sleepy yawn, Zuko stands to make his way inside, eager to see his baby girl before resigning to his own chambers for the evening. 

The day was filled with arduous meetings that droned on and on, and his muscles ached from prolonged regal prostration. 

Long crimson robes drag against marbled floor, the sound punctuated by the silence of the palace halls, usually lined with armored guards who were ordered to retire to their chambers for the night. Zuko was not a man who liked a lot of staff around, but he respected everyone’s sense of purpose in their work. 

Low yawns and mews of exhaustion echo in the massive hallways, with its tall ceilings and grand archways, each area of the monumental estate made Zuko's heart swell with pride. 

This was his. 

The Fire Nation palace used to be a place filled with fear and anxiety. He remembered hating growing up here, always seeing his mother’s face filled with worry, her voice always so hushed and secretive. 

Now, the palace was a lively place, filled with jubilant royal workers, guests, and family. It was warm, the walls no longer holding angst and condemnation, but now imbuing love and safety. 

This is home.   

He reaches up to unwrap his hair from its taut topknot, shoulders sagging in relief as he removes the golden Fire Nation hairpiece. Long obsidian strands curtain over broad shoulders. His neck had ached from having his hair heavily coiffed in the center of his head all day. 

Turning the final corner to his royal chamber, he is obstructed by a startling scene before him. 

Shocked gasps fill the air as panicked expressions gaze up at him in horror. 

His wife, Mai, stands in front of the door of the room assigned to his darling daughter, her arms clutching the robes of the head chief of the palace guardsmen, who was no longer adorned in his usual metal armor. 

Everything is still, accentuating the betrayal in all its glory. 

Zuko takes a precise step backward, using the glow of a nearby wall torch to really see the scene before him, deeply hoping that his exhausted mind was playing tricks on his perception of things. 

The chief’s arms are wrapped around Mai’s waist. He hunches over her, both are slightly panting, their lips agape and swollen. At the ‘v’ of her nightwear, Zuko could see her pale skin is littered with blossoming pink love marks that Zuko himself had not placed there. 

His golden eyes widen, blazing in fury and hurt. He could feel his fists clenching, flames threatening to ignite with every breath he takes. 

Suddenly, the white hot rage Zuko had thought was long gone, buried with the angry teen he once was, started to bubble just beneath the surface. 

“Z-zuko” 

Mai’s voice cracks as she reaches for him, untangling from the drunken man above her to get closer to her husband. 

Zuko’s face contorts at the mention of his name. He takes another step back, adamantly avoiding her touch. 

Zuko looks at Mai. Truly, looking at the raven-haired beauty who he never quite understood for the first time. His wife, Lady of the Fire Nation, raised and prepped to become the wife of royalty, the mother to his beautiful babygirl, his partner in sovereignty. 

The woman he never knew. 

He slowly pumps clenched fists at his sides, willing himself to avoid setting the entire palace ablaze, burning the embers of the betrayal along with all the pain of his childhood. 

Without any acknowledgement of the two, he pushes past them into Izumi’s bedchamber, eyes frantically scanning the space for his daughter. 

There, in the center of the room is her bassinet, lined in fine satin silks and outlined in frilly white lace lay his precious daughter, her large golden eyes falling onto her father as she coo’ed soft baby babbles to no one in particular. 

Zuko’s eyes soften, his fists unclench and reach for the infant, inwardly glad Mai hadn’t followed him in. He picks up the tiny girl, smoothening her ink-black strands and placing a kiss on her plump cheek, letting his lips linger on the soft skin, reveling in the solace that was his babygirl, his greatest love. 

With Izumi in his arms, he storms out of the room, past the dumbfounded traitors and toward the palace gates. 

“Zuko! ZUKO where are you going with her!” 

The hand holding Izumi tightens, holding the chattering baby to his chest firmly as he storms his way through the halls. 

“Get my airship ready.”

He says to the guardsmen at the outer gates, clutching his daughter a little tighter as the slight breeze signaling impending nightfall whirls by, lightly ruffling his royal attire. 

Zuko looks up at the sky, searching in the darkening orangey hue for answers he didn’t quite have questions to. He then turned his attention to his darling daughter. So unaware of the situation that she was in the center of, so radiant and jubilant, her eyes a mirror image of his own but brighter, unmarred by tints of trauma with a permanent scar to match. 

He gently rocks the squirming child, kissing her on the forehead and breathing in her scent to ground himself as the guards hurriedly readied the massive airship.

The Fire Lord didn’t know where he or his bouncy baby girl were headed, but he knew he couldn’t stay here. 

The Southern Water Tribe is a glacial terrain of pristine snow and frost. With its tall ice walls and everlasting snowfall, one wouldn’t expect to feel warmth in a place engrossed in eternal winter. 

But that’s how most felt. 

The sound of metal clashing against metal bounces off soft wisps of frigid air. Today’s a festive day for the Southern Water Tribe, and Sokkka was, to put it lightly, stressed. 

Today marked the day of his students’ coronation as incoming Southern Water Tribe warriors, but Sokka had more important things on his mind, mainly a new invention he planned to showcase at the ceremony. If only the damned thing would stop backfiring during test runs. 

The creak of metal wrenches tightening squeaky bolts fill the small workspace, alongside Sokka’s heavy breaths and frustrated curses. 

Beads of sweat line his forehead, trailing down his temple despite the glacial setting in which he was accustomed to. The pink of his tongue peaks out from the corner of his mouth, back hunched over the metal apparatus in heavy concentration. 

The thick tribal-patterned cloth acting as a door draws open, inviting a fresh gust of icy air sprinkled with crystalline snow pellets.

“Chief Sokka,” 

It was Yuka, Sokka’s second-in-command, standing tall at the entrance of the workshop, adorned in heavy royal blue winter-wear lined in ivory animal pelts. Yuka was all muscle and strength, standing at a hulking 6'4 with lean muscles and a fierce loyalty to match. The fur of his hood blew softly as wisps of cool air whirl by, his navy blue mask drawn up, piercing blue eyes landing on his war chief in silent awe. 

“Hm?” Sokka sings, never taking his eyes off his work, hands moving frantically to tap, tighten, or screw tiny bolt pieces in place. 

“Fire Lord Zuko is here to see you.” Yuka says, his tone formal, but twinged in hints of boredom. 

Sokka breaks his concentration to peak up at the doorway, head tilting a little to see his long-time friend standing quite awkwardly in long royal robes and a heavy blue parka, trying in vain to keep little Izumi from fisting the fur lining of their gifted winter-wear and placing it in her mouth. 

Sokka smiles a large sunny smile that replaces his earlier vexation. 

He drops his tools with a clank! Flinging his arms out dramatically to reach for the fussing baby in Zuko’s arms.

“IZUMI! Come to Uncle Sokka!”

Izumi bounces happily on Sokka’s knee, amber eyes wide with excitement, squealing and giggling so hard that sticky baby drool starts to trail down her chin. 

“—so I took Izumi, boarded on the airship and landed here.”

Zuko had just finished telling Sokka the story of what prompted his travels to The Southern Water Tribe, exhaustion wearing heavily on the features of his face. He looked frazzled, tired, and candidly—broken. 

Sokka raises an eyebrow, never taking his eyes off Izumi. 

“Landed here? Yeah sure” he says with a knowing smirk. 

Zuko looked at his friend, the fog of fatigue in his eyes lifting at the spirited baby in his hands. 

With a sigh, he looks off to the side, suddenly very interested in some forgotten trinket laying in the corner of the room. 

“That’s rough, bud. I’m sorry.” 

Sokka did his best to be there for his friend, although he never thought Mai was quite right for Zuko. She was too bland, too secretive, and to put it plainly—rude. Zuko was a passionate man, everyone knew that. Yeah, she worked for publicity purposes, but love? 

No way. 

“Any idea where I can find Katara?” 

It came out as a whisper, so low Zuko hadn't realized it slipped from his lips. 

Sokka’s smirk breaks out into a full-blown smile, but he reigns in his desire to tease Zuko, realizing the man had just gone through what was essentially the end of a very public marriage only days ago. 

“See that large ice building over there? You’ll find her in there.”

“Lady Katara, is there anything I can do to assist you?” 

Glacial eyes meet the handmaid’s concerned hazelnut orbs in the ornate mirror hung above the vanity.

Katara flashes the young woman a warm smile, putting on her best stern impression. 

“No, Kira, that'll be all. You’re good to go for the rest of the day.” 

Katara knew if she didn’t order her away, the poor woman would never leave her alone, waiting on her hand and foot day in and day out was not Katara’s style. 

The handmaid swallowed back another reason to stay, hearing the forced tone in her Lady’s voice and opting to listen. With a bow, she made her leave, creamy cotton dress swaying softly as she left the room. 

Katara resumed the daunting task of her hair in the mirror, sighing audibly as she moved the whale-tooth comb through her long espresso wavy locks, rolling her eyes at her reflection. 

Today was a special day for The Southern Water Tribe indeed, but she had sat through many coronations and silently grew bored of her brother’s antics and pompous show of his new inventions. 

Frankly she thought the need for her to be there was uneccesary. She wanted to be with her friends. 

Being stuffed in regal dresses, robes, and jewelry was not on her to-do list. She rather be sent off to help teach young women how to become healers, or help facilitate reconstruction, anything but be the token Water Tribe princess, feigning demure stature, hiding who she truly was, an independent adventurer.

She dropped the comb on the vanity, pushing her hair behind her shoulders. She had long grown out of her childhood “hair loopies” and opted for a regal halo braid as a headband pinned to the front with shiny silver water tribe pins, allowing the rest of her hair to flow down her back.

For the event, she wore an off-the-shoulder long-sleeved blue gown that flowed behind her when she walked. She wore minimal makeup, only allowing Kira to apply a gloss and brush out her lashes. She reached up to touch her signature necklace, fingers hovering over the waterbending emblem at the center. 

Her heart ached. 

Tears threatened to spill over. She wanted to leave. 

Ever since her and Aang decided to quietly call it quits, she felt at any moment she would shatter. She had agreed to the separation to explore something that lingered deep within her heart, something unknown yet so familiar to her. 

“Katara.”

Katara jumped, startled out of her deep thoughts, nearly falling over in fright.

Her heart skips a beat as she looks up to see the intruder, laughing in relief once she realizes who it is. 

“Zuko! Jeez, you nearly made me jump out of my skin!” She says standing to greet him, pulling him in the room for a warm embrace, elated to see her friend. 

A tear slips down her cheek as they hug. In this moment, this is what she needed. 

What started off as a friendly embrace quickly turns into a yearning of two broken hearts. Zuko leans into the hug, clutching Katara’s waist as if his life depended on her being there. Without thinking, he inhales deeply, bathing himself in her scent, familiarizing himself with the warm feminine aroma that helped him drift off many nights camping with the gaang. 

He missed this. 

He missed her. 

Katara pulled back, slowly untangling the two. She looked up at Zuko with dazzling eyes, looking into the tired embers of his own eyes, worried. 

“Zuko, there’s a reason you’re here. Isn’t it?” She asked, her tone laced with concern, as it often was. 

Zuko looked down at her, at a loss for words. His mind was riddled with so many thoughts. He was spent, he was hurt, but at this moment he was just happy to be in the company of one of his best friends. 

Looking down at her, the world seemed to slow. He goes to speak, but fails as his breath catches in his throat. 

Zuko always thought Katara was beautiful but it had been some time since he’d last seen his old friend, and today—well today she looked absolutely captivating. She looked so regal, mature in a way that exposed the womanhood that her teenage years had hidden. She was no longer an awkward adolescent, but a fierce woman who oozed the aura of a leader. 

Zuko swallowed. He was at her whim. 

Katara tilted her head to the side, taking his hands in hers. 

“Zuko? Come sit, you look terrible.” 

He couldn’t bring himself to feign a smile. He felt terrible. He felt too many things at once. 

“Thanks.” He replies dryly. 

Katara looks him over carefully, always so analytical. Always so maternal.

It warmed Zuko’s heart, yet broke it at the same time. 

It always stirred something low in his belly to see her so worried about everyone. He always wondered what she must’ve gone through to become such a woman, but he didn’t have to wonder, did he? He saw her fight her own desires to end the man who murdered her mother. He saw how she was the glue keeping a group of rowdy teens together, and always being labeled a nag for it. He saw how despite her large part in the reconstruction after the war, she would always be seen as the token Southern Water Tribe princess, and not the independent Water Bending Master she was. 

He saw it. 

He saw her. 

“Hey,”

Her hand moves to land on his. Soft mocha melding onto pale alabaster. 

Katara wasn’t a mind reader, but she understood that whatever the reason for Zuko’s unexpected visit, he didn't want to talk about it just then, which was fine by her, for now. 

She knew he’d spill one way or another. Katara was one of the only people Zuko ever had the strength to trust with his emotions. His inner child always felt safe with her from the moment he met her years earlier. But his outer man, well—-he yearned for her. 

But that wasn’t something he was ready to explore. Not in the wake of his newly destroyed marriage. 

Zuko looks away quickly, biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to ignore the creeping heat crawling up his neck. 

Katara looks at him with large glistening eyes, hints of amusement dancing in cerulean oceans. 

“Wanna be my plus one to this thing?”

The coronation event droned on as it did every year. Each one of Sokka’s students were formally introduced to the tribe’s people as official Southern Water Tribe Warriors. Sokka and Yuka marked them in formal tribal face paint, gifting them traditional weaponry and specialized parkas that would be their new everyday attire that branded them as warriors. 

Sokka gave his customary speech, introducing the Southern Water Tribe council members one by one, including his father, himself, his sister as the Water Tribe’s very own princess, Yuka his second-in-command, and their surprise guest Fire Lord Zuko. Each member stood with rounds of applause following. 

Zuko stood next to Katara, only looking slightly out of place as he sacrificed his customary red robes for tribal blue formal wear, brown leather boots, and a large fluffy parka. Katara had hastily braided his hair back in a single sleek braid that fell down his back for the event. He felt out of his element, going from extreme heat to extreme cold seemed fitting for Zuko’s life. 

Zuko didn’t miss the way Katara’s jaw ticked at being introduced as the Water Tribe’s princess, or how the men openly swooned when she stood, not-so-silent whispers bluntly questioning why she wasn’t betrothed as a woman of her beauty should be. Zuko could practically feel her loathing.

How she longed for the same respect as a man. 

Sokka went on to thank his students for entrusting him to be their leader—this didn’t go without self praise for his fine job at molding fresh young men into the militia. 

Lastly, he introduced his new invention which did not misfire, then everyone dispersed for the evening to enjoy the festivities.  

Zuko watched as tribal music commenced with ancient instruments and skilled dancers giving a lively performance. Sokka picked up baby Izumi from a nearby village girl’s arms and twirled her around, dancing with her to the tune and absorbing her hearty baby laughter. 

Zuko’s heart swelled. 

Katara elbows Zuko playfully, “You look good in blue!”

She says with a laugh, a gilded silver cup of fresh wine in between her slender fingers. She had left her fur parka behind, and only wore the regal dress that fit dangerously tight down to her abdomen, then flowed like water down to the floor. 

Zuko couldn’t understand how she could stand the cold air, but she did grow up here after all, ice and snow was kind of her thing.

He looks down at her playfully, a genuine smile stretching across his face. 

“Do I?”

She giggles, “No, it washes you out.” 

They laugh together, feeling light for the first time in a very long time. 

Katara tilts the cup in suggestion, “You don’t mind do you?”

Zuko shakes his head, eagerly taking the cup and downing it in one sip. 

The wine was fresh, strong, and went down like silk. 

Katara held onto his arm.  “Woah there! Didn’t take you for much of a drinker.”

Zuko chuckles, setting the now empty cup on a nearby tray. He turns to see Katara looking at him intently, large eyes somewhat dulled as they dart from his lips to his face. 

“Zuko, you got a little..”

A delicate finger reaches up to wipe a stray drop of wine that had trickled down his chin. The petal-soft digit lightly swoops up the silk-like substance in an upward motion, bringing it to her lips to suckle almost too audibly. 

Zuko was at a loss for words. He had never witnessed Katara act so lewd, usually the perfect picture of everything proper and orderly. 

Heat stirs in his lower belly at the act. He could say nothing, do nothing but stare. All he knew was that she looked gorgeous and it made him burn beneath the surface, it’s why oftentimes he avoided looking at her altogether, but the wine started to invade his bloodstream, making him feel bolder, warmer, looser. 

He takes a step back, suddenly feeling a little too warm despite the persistent chill in the air. He tugs at his parka’s neckline, needing to shed some layers. 

Katara tugs at his arm, standing on her tip toes to whisper

“I can help you get rid of that heavy thing, follow me.” 

Zuko swallows hard, feeling a fluttery sensation all the way down to his hair follicles. He could feel his palms growing sweaty and his ‘heavy thing’ growing heavier. But she was talking about the parka, wasn’t she? 

He hadn’t a clue what was happening anymore. The room was too noisy, his head was too foggy, and he wanted to crawl out of his skin and into Katara’s.

Had she had any wine? Zuko wasn’t sure. But he knew her boldened state wasn’t an illusion. 

Zuko follows her down a hall that is too quiet in comparison to the noisy festival they had just left. He isn’t embarrassed to admit that he looks like her lost puppy on her heels, eyes lingering on the sway of her hips and the way her body moved so fluidly down the hall. Zuko had always been mesmerized by her gracefulness, attributing it to her bending technique, but the truth was Katara had always moved with the waves even before she became a master. 

“Here,” she says lowly, bringing them to a room with a large door. She retracts and clenches the fingers of her right hand, and with a few click clanks the door creaks open. 

She looks up at Zuko with a sheepish smile. 

“There’s frozen bolts in the door that unlock with bending.” 

Answering the question Zuko hadn’t the words to vocalize. 

With a giggle she pulls him inside, maneuvering her hands to help him out of his bulky layers. After pulling the parka over his head, he throws his head back with a breathy sigh, cracking his neck and straightening out some, feeling a little lighter without the massive fur weighing him down. 

He looks around the room, impressed with the cozy space and its modest decorations. It seemed to be a rest room of some sort, with a few love seats surrounding a marbletop table. There’s a makeshift hearth on the far wall, keeping the space relatively warm.

Zuko’s eyes land back on Katara, whose eyes never seemed to have left him. 

He swallows, feeling the air around them thicken in a way he didn’t understand. He could hear her breaths getting heavier and see the rise and fall of her chest, looking almost feral with the way she eyes him.

Zuko was no stranger to sex, evident by the presence of Izumi, however true sexual desire and lust was something he never fully experienced and he could admit that he was out of his realm. 

His heart beat ferociously in his chest, alternating with the heavy throb below the waistline. He could feel his mouth going dry and the tips of his ears heating up as his eyes drink in her refined features. 

Finding his courage, he rasps “Katara I–”

He’s interrupted by her lips mashing into his, impatient hands fumbling to untie his robes. 

Zuko, startled, goes to gently pry her off, but when his hands land on the bare smooth skin of her slender shoulders, he could only lean into the kiss further.

Katara hums impatiently as she sloppily mushes her lips against his, drunken desire fueling her actions. 

Zuko could feel his self control starting to slip away, fingers gripping her shoulders in desperation, trying to sort the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that caused the flutter in the pit of his stomach. 

Katara pulls back, coming back to reality for a moment. Although somewhat inebriated, her eyes only held sincerity beneath pools of desire. 

Zuko looks at her, chest heaving cheeks flushed red, hands still clasping her shoulders. 

Katara catches her breath, sober enough to muster the courage to speak. 

“Z-zuko I–” 

Zuko hangs onto every syllable, waiting for her to make the next move, desperately missing her touch.

Katara blinks, tears pooling at her waterline, glacier orbs crystalline in the light of a nearby torch. 

“I love you.” 

The words rest between them, fragile as the glass caging their hearts.

Zuko stares at her, his heart pounding so loudly he was certain she could hear it.

For years he'd imagined what those words might sound like if they ever came from her. In every version he'd conjured, he had always known exactly what he'd say in return.

Yet now that they are here...nothing came.

Not because he didn't feel it, but because he felt too much.

His fingers tremble against her shoulder as he searches her face, looking for hesitation, for regret—anything that might tell him the wine had spoken instead of her heart.

He found none.

Only tears.

Only Katara.

"You don't have to say it," she whispered, a watery smile breaking through. "I know tonight has been..."

She laughs weakly.

"...a lot."

Zuko shakes his head.

"No."

His voice cracks.

"You deserve to hear it."

He reaches up carefully, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"I think..." He swallows. "No—that isn't true, not anymore."

Another shaky breath.

"I know I've loved you for a very long time."

Katara's breath catches.

"I just buried it."

His eyes drift toward the floor.

"You were with Aang. I was with Mai. We had responsibilities, kingdoms, lives that no longer belonged only to us."

His laugh is hollow.

"So I convinced myself it was just admiration."

Katara cupped his face before he could retreat any further.

"It wasn't."

"No."

"It never was."

For the first time since walking in on Mai, the tightness around Zuko's chest loosened.

Not because the pain was gone, but because someone was finally helping him carry it.

He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes, breathing her in.

"I don't know what tomorrow looks like."

"I don't either."

"My marriage is over."

"I know."

"I'm still angry."

"I know."

"I have Izumi."

A soft smile spreads across Katara's lips.

"I know."

Silence settles over them, no hints of awkwardness or uncertainty, but a peacefulness that always seemed so far from reach.

Zuko let out a breath he felt he'd been holding in for years.

"I love you too."

Katara's eyes flutter shut.

This kiss was nothing like the frantic collision they'd shared moments before.

It was slow, careful, and hungry.

This kiss was a far cry from the troubled teens hurling insults at one another with novice bending, but an oath to each other and themselves that they would heal—a promise instead of an escape.

Outside, laughter from the celebration drifted faintly through the ice walls while snow continued to fall over the Southern Water Tribe.

For the first time in a very long time, neither of them felt alone.

The rest of the world could wait until morning.

Morning arrived quietly.

The room smelled faintly of cedarwood and extinguished fire, warm despite the endless snow beyond its walls.

Zuko stirs first. For one blissful heartbeat, he didn't remember where he was.

Then he felt the steady rise and fall of another person's breathing against his chest.

His eyes open.

Katara sleeps peacefully beside him, her cheek resting over his heart, long chestnut hair spilling across both their bodies like a blanket.

He doesn’t move. He simply watches her.

Without the worry lines that usually crease her brow, she looks younger somehow. Softer. Peaceful.

Beautiful.

His lips curve into the smallest smile.

Last night hadn't been a dream.

He remembered every kiss, every confession, every whispered laugh between shaky breaths.

Every promise.

The smile disappears. Reality settles over him like a rush of cold water.

Mai. The Fire Nation. The council. Izumi.

He slowly covers his face with one hand.

"...Spirits."

The movement rouses Katara. She lets out a sleepy hum before blinking up at him.

Striking blue meets warm gold.

Neither speak. Neither knew where to begin.

Finally, Katara offers a timid smile.

"Good morning."

Zuko laughs—a short, helpless breath that borders on a groan.

"I don't think there's ever been a morning less deserving of those words."

She winces.

"...Probably not."

Silence. Not uncomfortable, just heavy.

"I don't regret it." 

Katara said it before fear could stop her. Zuko looks at her immediately.

"I regret the timing."

She continues quietly, her voice small and diminutive.

"I regret the pain that brought us here."

Her fingers find his beneath soft satin blankets.

"But I don't regret... us."

His thumb brushes across her knuckles.

"I don't either."

More silence.

"I have to go home."

The words taste bitter, like the combination of two flavors that didn’t quite mix. 

Katara nods.

"I know."

"I have to end my marriage properly."

"I know."

"I have to protect Izumi."

"I know."

"And I don't know what happens to us."

Katara looks down at their intertwined hands.

"I don't know either."

She squeezes gently.

"But... I don't think last night was a mistake."

Zuko leans forward until their foreheads touch.

"No."

"It wasn't."

Outside the room, muffled laughter echoes through the halls. Life had continued. Duties and politics would wait for no one.

But for one stolen morning, they allowed themselves a few more quiet moments before the world came crashing back in.

And the world would just have to be okay with that.

~

A/N: Hi everybody! If you made it this far tysm for reading! This took an ungodly amount of weeks to finally push out. Just have to face facts that I'm not a fic writer who can start and finish in the same day *sighs*

Anyways! As always, thank you to my favorite pookies who always show my work some love 💗

If anyone would like to donate in support of my works, that would be greatly appreciated: all proceeds will go toward helping me pay down my balance as an incoming freshman of my Doctor of Pharmacy program

Thank you for supporting my dream of becoming a Pharmacist 👩‍⚕️’30

Venmo: Haley-AveSav

Bye for now! xoxo

Rengokusflame

You stare at the text. 

Your heart skips a beat. 

Three sharp knocks at the front door shifts your gaze. 

“Honey! Sanemi’s here! Oh my, you look so handsome, come in the living room—I need pictures before you leave!”

You glance at the text one last time. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. 

Nothing comes. 

You lock the screen and slip your phone in your silver clutch. 

Drawing in a slow breath, you listen as Sanemi’s footsteps grow louder down the hallway, accompanied by the relentless click of your mother’s camera. 

You look up, locking eyes with him as you have countless times before. 

You can’t help but smile. 

He wore exactly what you suggested. 

Tailored black slacks, polished dress shoes, and a crisp white dress shirt with the top buttons left carelessly undone beneath a forest-green suit jacket. A black tie hung slightly loose around his neck, and despite whatever effort he’d made to tame it, a few stubborn white strands still framed his face. His silver studded earrings caught the light every time he moved. 

He looked exactly like Sanemi. 

Comfortably handsome. Effortlessly confident. 

Just like you knew he’d be.

His steps slow.

His lips part. 

“...Damn.”

Your mother lets out another delighted squeal, the rapid clicks of her camera never stopping.

He closes the distance between you. Instinctively, your hands find the knot of his tie, straightening it while he brushes a loose curl behind your ear. 

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

A quiet laugh escapes you. 

“Hold still, love.” 

He grins. 

“Knew you’d fix it.” 

Click!

“Hold still guys! Sanemi lean in more—y/n smile!”

Your mother fusses with the camera, crouching lower to capture yet another angle. 

You let out an exaggerated sigh. 

“Mom, are we done yet? We’re going to be late.”

She finally lowers the camera, crossing the room to wrap you in a warm hug before pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“I love you so much. You look so beautiful.” Her voice softens. “You’ve always made me proud every single day. Just… have fun tonight, okay?” 

Your smile turns smaller. 

“I love you too mom.” You pause, flashing her a hopeful grin. “No curfew?”

She laughs.

“I talked it over with your father. No curfew.” She points a playful finger between you and Sanemi. “But keep your phone nearby just in case I want to check in. Now go make some memories—and send me pictures!” 

Sanemi laces his fingers through yours as the two of you head toward the front door. 

The steady click of your heels against the porch somehow sounds louder than usual. 

Like always, he steps ahead to open the passenger door before waiting for you to climb in. 

The drive is quieter than you expected. 

Streetlights blur together beyond the passenger window. Trees give way to storefronts, storefronts to neighborhoods, neighborhoods to the familiar roads leading toward the school. 

You search the passing scenery without really seeing any of it. 

“Relax, babe.”

Sanemi reaches across the center console, his fingers slipping around yours. 

“Tonight’s gonna be fun.”

You squeeze his hand back automatically. 

“...Yeah.”

The word leaves your mouth before your heart has a chance to catch up.

The gym looked nothing like the place you’d spent four years dreading assemblies in. 

Golden fairy lights crisscrossed the ceiling beneath hundreds of glittering paper stars. The polished hardwood reflected soft blues and golds from the decorations student council had spent weeks crafting, transforming the familiar basketball court into something almost unrecognizable. 

Music boomed through the speakers, echoing throughout the room. 

Laughter and light chatter followed. 

Mitsuri spun happily across the dance floor in a blush pink gown that floated around her ankles with every step, Obanai close behind in an impeccably tailored black suit, his attention fixed solely on her despite the chaos around them. 

Near the refreshments, Shinobu laughed behind the back of her hand, violet satin catching the lights as Giyuu stood beside her in a navy suit, looking as though he'd rather drown than pose for another picture. 

Across the room, Tengen looked exactly as over-the-top as expected. White and gold suited him almost unfairly, though somehow Makio, Hinatsuru, and Suma managed to steal the spotlight anyway, each in dresses as lavish as their personalities. 

Everything looked

Perfect.

Exactly how you’d planned it. 

“...Green.”

A quiet voice pulls your attention away from the crowd. 

Muichiro stands only a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of a charcoal suit vest, the light blue sleeves of his dress shirt folded up to his forearms. 

He looks at your dress. 

“You picked green.”

You glance down. 

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. 

“I guess I did.”

“You said I’d have to wait.”

“I did.” you say, spinning nervously so he could see. 

“I like it.” He says, as if commenting on the weather. 

Heat rises to your cheeks. 

“Thanks.” 

Tanjiro appears between the two of you with a large sunny smile. 

“I knew you’d come!”

Muichiro shifts. “I said I would.”

“You actually ironed your shirt!”

“I didn’t.”

“...Oh.”

“My brother did.”

Tanjiro sighs. “I should've known. I’m glad you went with the light blue instead of the black shirt.”

You laugh, surprising yourself. Everything feels easy. Too easy. 

Muichiro steps awkwardly onto the dance floor after Tanjiro insists. 

He has absolutely zero rhythm, but his choppy movements and clipped banter warms something deep in your chest. 

You spend more time laughing than dancing, trying to guide him through moves he clearly has no interest in remembering. 

“I stepped on your foot.”

“You’ve stepped on it three times.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Okay.”

You smile. His eyes never leave yours. 

Across the room, Sanemi catches your eye. 

He grins. 

Raises two fingers as the signal. 

Your stomach drops. Your heart races. 

No. Not yet. Not while Muichiro is still smiling like that. 

“...Y/N?”

Muichiro notices you’ve stopped moving. 

You don’t answer. 

Your gaze drifts toward the front of the gym. 

Mitsuri is already walking toward Obanai. Shinobu slips her hand into Giyuu’s. One by one, every senior returns to the person they came with. 

The room slowly begins to understand. 

Kanao’s smile disappears first. 

“...Sanemi?” her voice comes out as a whisper. 

Sanemi reaches you in only a few strides, wrapping an arm comfortably around your waist like he’d done a hundred times before. 

“There she is.” He kisses your temple. 

The entire gym goes silent. 

No music. No laughter. 

Kanao takes a slow step backward. 

“...You…”

Tears fill her eyes almost immediately. 

“I thought…”

Zenitsu lets out a horrified wail loud enough to shake the decorations overhead. 

“I KNEW LOVE WAS A LIE! I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS MITSURI I KNEW IT I KNEW IT!”

Someone actually starts crying. 

Someone laughs.

Tanjiro looks around the room. Then at you. No anger flashes across his features. He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t insult. 

Just hurt. 

“...Even you?”

The words are quiet, punching you in the gut. 

You turn to Muichiro, who had already taken a step back, realization washing over him like an ice buck of water. 

His expression hasn’t changed. 

Not much. 

His tiny smile is gone. 

“I see.”

He turns and walks away. 

“Muichiro. Muichiro wait!”

Your hand reaches for him before you can think better of it. 

Sanemi’s hold on your waist tightens. 

“Babe?”

You can’t hear him, the beat of your heart thrumming in your ears. 

You pull away, the gym doors slamming behind you. 

The cool night air hits your skin like thin sheets of ice. 

You find him sitting beneath an old oak tree overlooking the football field. 

Silver slivers of moonlight wound between the branches, highlighting blades of grass and everything in between. 

Muichiro sits on the lowest root, silently folding something in his lap.

Green construction paper. 

Your stomach flutters. 

You stop a few feet away, the night air softly swaying your dress. 

Neither of you says anything. 

“I’m sorry.”

The words feel small. Not enough.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

Silence. 

“I knew you had a boyfriend.”

You blink in disbelief. 

“What?”

“I’ve seen him walk you to class.”

Your stomach twists.

“Then,” your voice breaks.

“Why did you say yes?”

Muichiro examines the unfinished paper airplane resting between his fingers. 

“Because you asked.”

His tone holds no anger, no accusation. 

Just truth. The facts. As always. 

Your eyes burn, threatening to water. 

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know.” 

“You do?”

“You’ve apologized more than once.”

You laugh weakly, a broken laugh that turns into a sob. 

“I’m awful.”

“No.”

“You don’t have to make me feel better.” 

“I’m not.” he looks at you. 

“I don’t think you’re awful…just wrong.”

Another laugh escapes through watery tears. 

“You really don’t know how to sugarcoat anything, do you?”

“No.”

“Sorry.”

“You apologized again.”

“Sorry.”

“Again.”

You wipe your eyes, laughing despite the sour feeling in your stomach.

He holds out the finished paper airplane. 

“For you.”

You carefully unfold it. 

Inside, written in neat handwriting are three simple words. 

For maximum flight

Beneath the line is a tiny drawing of a cloud. 

Your vision blurs all over again.

“You made this?”

“I was going to give it to you before the dance.”

Your fingers curl carefully around the paper. 

“I still…”

He pauses. 

“I still like talking to you.”

Your breath catches. 

“I don’t know what this is.” 

“Neither do I.”

“..Can we figure it out?”

Muichiro looks up toward the clouds drifting lazily across the night sky. 

“Okay.”

You sit beside him beneath the tree. 

No words. No dancing. No pretending. 

You watch the clouds together, neither of you filling the silence.

Pale fingers gently intertwine with yours. You accept them, a tear falling down your cheek. 

SPRING

Winter came and went. 

The whispers surrounding the dance slowly faded into another story the school stopped telling. 

But somehow 

Muichiro never stopped texting. 

And neither did you. 

One conversation quickly turned into dozens. Dozens became a steady routine. 

Before long, it wasn’t unusual to find him beside you on the football bleachers, a half-finished paper airplane resting in his lap while the two of you watched clouds drift lazily across the afternoon sky. 

Somewhere along the way, Tanjiro had become part of the routine as well. 

So had walking each other to class. 

So had laughing. 

To the public, you and Sanemi were still together. He still walked you to class when your schedules lined up. He still blew you kisses from the football field—you still caught them. 

But somewhere in between catching them…you’d started looking over your shoulder first.  

One rainy morning, just like every other morning, Sanemi picks you up for school. The ride there was eerily silent. The steady patter of rain against the windshield became the only sound between you.

He parks beside the football field instead of the main lot. 

Like always, he circles around the truck and opens your door before you can reach for the handle. 

You smile. 

“Thanks.”

“Always.”

His eyes scan the area. A few students could be seen walking into the building. He had parked closer to the field, farther from the main entrance. 

He leans against the truck’s frame, shifting uncomfortably.

Hesitating.

“Nemi–what’s wrong?” 

Rain clings to the loose white strands framing his face. 

“You know…Y/N…”

“I love you.” 

You smile, adjusting the purse strap on your shoulder. 

“I love you too.”

“I kept trying to figure out what I did wrong.”

Your smile fades. A knot in your stomach coiling.

“You didn’t—”

“Yeah,” he interrupts. 

“Yeah, I know.”

You both say nothing for a moment. 

“He makes you smile.”

You freeze, feeling the pit of your stomach churn. 

“The way you smile around him..” He chuckles softly, running calloused hands through his damp strands. 

“I haven’t seen that directed at me in a while.”

A tear falls down your cheek. You say nothing. 

“You know that night at the dance, I was humiliated when you went off running for him. But I waved it off as you feeling guilty. Which I could live with, my girl has a heart.”

Pause.

“But then…you started smiling at your phone more. Skipping hangouts. Barely lookin’ at me.”

A steady stream of tears fall now, leaving a salty stain on your shirt. 

“I’m so sorry.” you sob.

He shakes his head, wiping away a single tear from your cheek.

“Don’t apologize for growing up.”

He chuckles again. 

“Funny.”

He laughs dryly.

“I always figured we’d be one of those couples that made everybody sick. Graduated together. Get married someday. Guess life had other plans.”

He looks over at his truck then back down at you. 

“This world we’ve lived in for the last 4 years, that isn’t you anymore. I don’t fit into your future anymore.”

“...And that’s okay.”

He looks up at the sky, raindrops wetting his face.

“I’ll always wonder what would’ve happened if we’d met a little later.”

He looks back down at you. 

“But I don’t regret a damn thing.”

He reaches over to envelope you in a hug. His scent pulls you in. Warm and familiar. The same detergent. The same cologne. The same heartbeat you’d fallen asleep against more times than you could count.

But this hug is different. Not a hug that promises forever. But a hug that respects your growth. 

He plants a soft kiss on your forehead, eyes lingering on your face. 

He gets into the truck, revving the engine and rolls down the window. 

“Nemi…” you hiccup. 

His signature smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, but smaller, less bright. Your heart skips. 

“Go. Continue to make me proud.”

He pulls at the gearshift, tires carrying him away. 

You stand there, outfit now fully damp, hair sticking to your neck. 

You can’t tell what’s wetting you more, your tears or the rain. 

You feel something poke at your shoes in the wet grass. A green paper airplane lands at your feet. 

You look up. Muichiro stands quietly beneath the awning, another paper airplane resting between his fingers. 

Your eyes drift past him…

…to the back of Sanemi’s truck disappearing beyond the parking lot. 

You kneel to pick it up, fingers tightening around the damp paper tucked safely inside your jacket pocket. 

You huff out a slow steadying breath. 

Then another. 

Your legs carry you forward.

You stop a few feet in front of him. 

His expression shifts subtly as he takes in the tears staining your cheeks. 

His gaze trails to the damp paper airplane tucked at your side, then back to your face.

He says nothing. 

Without a word, he holds out the paper airplane. 

You take it. 

Neither of you says anything. You don’t need to. 

You walk forward. 

Side by side. 

EPILOGUE

Years later, people would remember the prank. 

They’d remember Kanao’s tears, Zenitsu’s screams, and the way the gym went quiet. 

Funny. 

That’s not what you remembered. 

You remembered green paper airplanes and fluffy clouds. 

And one boy who said yes…

..simply because you asked.

~

Cover illustration created with the assistance of AI. I am not the illustrator; all writing is my own. Please don't repost my works as your own.

Part 1

Part 2

A/N: Finally clearing out the drafts! This idea had been sitting in docs since April!

Would love if any mutuals could give their thoughts on this one, it was particularly difficult writing a modern AU Muichiro without making him seem too *off*

There was nothing particularly romantic about this one, but the nostalgia really guided me...this was definitely a tear-jerker...at least for me

Oh to be young and conflicted

anyways hugs and kisses

Likes, comments, PMs, reblogs, donations; always welcomed and appreciated <3

Tags: @angelbearknyyy

@deathmetaldreams

@alovelyocean

@doumassexywife

@karbzy0147

The door to your bedroom brushes against the carpeted floor with a soft whoosh.

You flop on the bed with a heavy sigh, soft plushes tumbling around your head as you sink further into the mattress. 

Today had been grueling.

Midterms. Student council. Cheer. The cafeteria. 

You bury your face in your satin pillowcase, the cool fabric grounding you for the first time all day.

You kick your sandals off the edge of the bed, flopping on your side to fish for your phone, which had been buzzing nonstop since you left the lunch room. 

You open your phone to a myriad of notifications: 

Mitsuri K.: OMG 😱 

My love Sanemi S.: Babe 😭😭😭 You had the whole caf losing it. Call me. 

Cheer GC: Oh my gosh, GIRL what was THAT?! 🤯

Volleyball team: YOU ASKED TOKITO??🫨😵

You roll your eyes, ignoring the flood of incoming messages with their various reactions. 

You scroll until you find the contact you added earlier today. His indifferent photo fills the screen.

Your thumb lingers over the icon to create a new text thread. 

You: hey!! It’s y/n 😊

Send.

You lock the screen and let your head sink back into the pillow, your fingers drumming lightly against the edge of your phone as you replay the day’s events. 

You toss your phone onto the bed beside you with a huff. 

Your eyes drift back to it anyway. 

Forcing yourself up, you shuffle your way in your bathroom, hastily undressing before stepping beneath the spray of your walk-in shower.

The hot water instantly eases the tension from your shoulders. You work strawberries and cream body wash into a pink loofah before washing away the day, the sweet scent slowly replacing the lingering smell of cafeteria food and dry-erase markers.

You soap up the skin on and under your arms, legs, neck, and back, squeezing some matching scented shampoo in your hair and massaging the roots. 

You step out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a fluffy cream-colored towel. You nearly trip over your feet when you hear the buzz of your phone in the next room. 

You pick up the device with wet fingers, hurriedly unlocking the screen and clicking the new notification. 

(1) New message

       Muichiro T.: Hello, Y/N

Your lips pull into a frown. 

You: Do you always text like you’re writing a business email?

Muichiro T.: Is that bad?

You can’t help but laugh. He wasn’t trying to be funny. 

The serum bottle sits untouched on the bathroom counter. 

You had forgotten all about your skincare/haircare routine. 

You: Wyd?

Muichiro T.: Folding paper airplanes.

You stare at the message. Searching for some hidden meaning behind the line.

Finding none. 

TUESDAY

By the next morning, saying hello to Muichiro in the hallway felt strangely normal. 

You walk to your next class. 

You pass by the sophomore hall. Tanjiro waves, a warm smile lighting his face. Muichiro stands nearby, an AirPod peeking out one ear, a crisp paper airplane in his hands. 

Noticing his friend’s line of sight, his large hazy eyes fall on you. 

He blinks. 

“Hello, Y/N.” he says as the corner of his mouth lifts only slightly. 

You smile and nod, strutting off to your next destination. 

WEDNESDAY

You find yourself reaching for your phone more often now. 

His name somehow always found its way back at the top of your messages, earning a reply long before the dozens of other notifications competing for your attention.

Your conversations span from cheer logistics to class schedules and homework, to clouds, your favorite snacks, and the best way to fold a paper airplane for maximum flight. 

You catch yourself smiling down at your phone, always amused at just how literal and direct his responses came. 

You: I h8 geometry. 

Muichiro T: The clouds are nice today.

You: Why clouds?

Muichiro T: They look nice today. Less grey. 

You: Where are you seeing clouds?

Muichiro T: Outside. 

You: Shouldn’t you be in 3rd period? Y r u outside?

Muichiro T: I left class.

You: Why did u leave class?

Muichiro T: To go to the bathroom. 

You: But ur outside.

Muichiro T: Yes.

You: 😐

Muichiro T:  ?

You: nvm 😭

Muichiro T: Okay.

THURSDAY

Today is nothing less than hectic. 

Cheer practice had taken 2 hours to perfect the routine for homecoming. 

Student council was busy preparing for homecoming events and the big dance Friday night. 

Homework had started piling up now that there wasn’t time to finish it during class.

And to top it off you haven’t reached for your phone all day. 

You couldn’t. 

You felt your purse buzz. You reach for it, expecting an update from the group chat on how the decorations for the dance were coming along. 

Instead, you’re greeted with somewhat of an urgent text.

Muichiro T.: The paper airplane made it across the courtyard today. 

You smile, fingers swiping quickly across the screen. 

You: Really?? That’s awesome 😲

Muichiro T.: [attachment: 1 photo: *blurry photo of a paper airplane*] 

The green construction paper works better than the blue. 

You laugh, feeling your lips pull into the first genuine smile you’ve sported all day. 

You sit back in your seat, tapping a mechanical pencil against the desk top. 

You realize you wouldn’t have smiled at all today if you hadn’t gotten that text. 

Strange. 

Your fingers travel back to the keyboard, ready to reply. 

“Who’s got you smiling?” Mitsuri squeals, seemingly coming out of nowhere.

You jump so hard that your buttocks physically lifts from the chair. 

You quickly lock your phone, wincing at the audible click of the side button’s lock tone. 

“..No one.” you lie. Terrible liar. 

Mitsuri shoots you a knowing look, giggling as she analyzes your composure. 

“That wasn’t a ‘no one’ lock.”

You say nothing. 

She continues to smile at you, forgoing the desire to prod. 

Your best friend knows something is different. 

FRIDAY

Your bedroom looks like a tornado swept  through it. 

Dresses drape over your desk chair. Makeup litters the vanity. Curling irons, straighteners, and a blow dryer compete for the same outlet.

You thought this day would be easy. You had it all planned out since the announcement of the dance, but now…everything is falling apart. 

Suddenly you feel the outfit you chose is too tight. Too short. The color too bold. 

To make matters worse, you can’t stop checking your phone. 

Muichiro T.: What color are you going to wear?

You: You’ll see

Your smile fades the second the screen goes dark. 

Your mother flits around the room, snapping a picture of you at all angles. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Mom, can you please just get one good photo so I can go. Sanemi’s waiting!”

Your mother wipes an invisible tear. 

“I’m sorry honey! It’s just you’ll never be a senior in high school ever again!”

Another click of the camera. 

You’d settled on an emerald satin midi dress with delicate spaghetti straps and white heels. A simple silver necklace rests against your collarbone, soft curls framing your face beneath the same glossy lips you’d perfected all week. 

It took some work and a few silent meltdowns but you were finally satisfied with the look. 

That is…mostly satisfied. 

You only wonder what Muichiro would thi—

Your phone buzzes. 

Muichiro T.: I am looking forward to tonight.

Final Part

~

Cover illustration created with the assistance of AI. I am not the illustrator; all writing is my own. Please don't repost my works as your own.

“Hmm, I’ve got it!”

Your friend Mitsuri squeals, her strawberry/kiwi bubblegum braids bouncing as her pointer finger positions itself in the air, as if it was a lit thought bulb symbolizing a new idea. 

“How ‘bout the new boy?”

She says, a little too loud in the sea of students crowding the halls. 

You giggle, swiping another coat of lip gloss over your lips in the rhinestone-framed mirror stuck inside your locker. Above it sits a collage of cheer competitions, football games, birthday parties, and nearly every other highlight of your high school career, most of them featuring your boyfriend, Sanemi Shinazugawa, grinning somewhere beside you. 

The metal door slams unexpectedly. 

You gasp as a scarred arm loops around your shoulders, pulling you back against a familiar muscled chest. 

“I think it’s a great idea, babe.” Sanemi says, lips twisting into a sly grin. “Dude’s a total pipsqueak.” 

He catches the back of your hair and pulls you in for a kiss before you can answer. You grab at his shirt as his mouth moves messily against yours, only shoving him away when his hands begin to wander.

“Babe!” you fake pout, “I wasn’t done.”  You pop open your locker again to fix the gloss he already ruined. 

“Besides,” you say, studying him through the mirror, “have you even found your own loser for the dance?”

Sanemi wipes the sticky shine from his lips with the back of his hand. 

“Course I have. Ya know that dorky girl who sits in the back of math? Doesn’t say much. Always hangs around that annoying smiley guy with the scar?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot her name already. It’s Kanao.”

“Whatever.” He leans closer to the mirror, scowling at the faint pink sheen still clinging to his lips. “Love how this stuff looks on you. Hate how hard it is to get off.” 

You roll your eyes, satisfied with your touch-ups, closing the metal door and slinging your purse over your shoulder. 

“I think you look cute.”

His gaze drops lower as he pulls you closer by the waist.

“Cute enough for third base?” he pleads with the best puppy dog expression he could muster. 

You laugh, pressing a palm against his chest before he can distract you again.

“We’ll see what happens after we declare a winner.”

Mitsuri giggles beside you, already twisting one of her braids around her finger. 

“This is going to be so much fun!”

The rules had already been decided. 

Each senior had to ask an unsuspecting underclassman to the dance. Keep up the act long enough to make them believe it. Let them buy the outfit, tell their friends, and wait by the entrance beneath the glittering paper stars. 

Then arrive with your real date. 

Whoever got the biggest reaction won. 

Cruel, maybe. But that was what made it funny. At least, it had every other year. 

“If I go for the new boy, neither of you stands a chance,” you say. “You’ve seen him staring.”

“Fat chance!” Sanemi folds his arms, leaning against cold metal lockers with his signature smirk, as cocky and boisterous as ever. 

“That Kanao girl looked like she was gonna pass out when I asked her. That scar-faced kid beside her looked like he wanted to kill me.”

“Tanjiro,” Mitsuri corrects sweetly.

"Didn't ask.”

The warning bell rings, cutting through the hallway chatter. 

Sanemi brushes a stray piece of hair from your face, his teasing expression softening as he looks down at you. 

“Don’t overdo it with the pipsqueak,” he murmurs. “Bet or not, you’re still mine.”

You trail a manicured thumb over his bottom lip, giving him a reckless grin.

“It’s our senior year.”

You step away as the final bell begins to ring.

 “Let’s go out with a bang.”

Classes droned on. Not because they were boring, but because you understood the material almost too well. 

When class is dismissed, you’re the first one through the classroom door. 

You shoulder open the cafeteria doors, greeted by overlapping conversations, scraping chairs, and someone yelling clear across the room. 

The soft tick of your wedges barely echoes three steps in before you hear your name. 

You wave. 

A compliment on your skirt. 

You shoot them a wink. 

Someone from the volleyball team asks if you’ll be at Friday’s game. 

“You know it!” you say smoothly. 

Your smile never falters as your gaze wanders over the sea of tables, searching for one face in particular. 

Heads turn as you weave between tables, your skirt swishing around your thighs. A few freshmen straighten in their seats, whispers following your every step.

Across the room, Sanemi catches your eye from the seniors’ table. 

He smirks, raising an eyebrow in silent reminder. 

Go. Win.

Your stomach flutters, warmth blooming in your chest as you straighten your shoulders. Making Sanemi proud always came naturally. 

The newest addition to the sophomore class wasn’t hard to spot. Until now, he’d always been little more than another face in the hallway.

While the rest of the cafeteria buzzed with the usual teenage chaos, Muichiro Tokito sat at the end of the sophomore table, absentmindedly sipping a Snapple through a straw. One AirPod peeked through his dark tresses as the burgundy-haired boy beside him chatted animatedly, comparing their class schedules. 

Muichiro simply listened, untouched by the chaos.

You flip your hair over your shoulders, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from your shirt before closing the distance. 

The closer you get, the quieter the cafeteria becomes.

Overlapping conversations fade into lingering murmurs. A chair scrapes across the floor. Someone cat calls and lets out a low whistle. 

You stop beside the sophomore table, your gaze falling on the new boy. 

His never leaves Tanjiro. 

Tanjiro halts mid-sentence, noticing his tablemates staring. He looks up, following your gaze. 

It’s almost comical the way Tanjiro’s face lights in surprise, the tips of his ears flushing in awe. He nudges the new boy.

“...Tokito?”

Muichiro finally looks up. 

You smile sweetly.

His face is unreadable. If you didn’t know any better you’d think your presence didn’t faze him at all. 

“Hi.”

You say with almost too much pep. 

“Hello.” 

You continue to smile. Waiting. 

You feel everyone’s stares. 

Nothing. 

He just…looks at you. 

Tanjiro looks between the two of you. 

You wait. 

Muichiro waits. 

“Uhm…did you need something?” 

You disregard the question, holding Muichiro’s gaze. 

“Do you know who I am?” 

You ask, leaning a little further in.

“I’ve seen you around.”

You cock your head slightly to the side. 

“I’m (y/n). Senior class representative and head of the cheerleading team.”

“You don’t look like a cheerleader.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not wearing the uniform.”

“Practice was cancelled today because of exams.” 

“Oh.”

Neither of you says anything.

He holds your stare. 

“...Well this is Muichiro Tokito. He’s an underclassmen coming from–”

“Wanna go to the dance this Friday?”

A series of gasps echo throughout the cafeteria. 

Tanjiro sucks in a sharp breath. Muichiro takes another sip of his Snapple. 

Swallows.

Then looks up at you.

“Why?”

Your mouth parts.

“...Because I asked?”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, your practiced smile threatening to slip for the first time all afternoon.

“It’s a good way to get to know the school.” you justify.

“Besides, dances are more fun when you’ve got a plus one.”

Your gaze catches a stray pack of gum abandoned on the table. 

Before you can think better of it, your fingers steal a piece. 

Spearmint floods your mouth.

Your eyes refocus on the new boy, noticing the color match between his hoodie and the tips of his hair. 

You lean over the table again. 

“So what do you say? Wanna go to the dance this Friday with me?” you prod.

You refused to leave without an answer. 

Muichiro holds your gaze, saying nothing. 

You blink.

…

“Okay.”

“Great. I’ll text you the details,” you say quickly, already learning that every question led to another with him. 

Muichiro reaches into his pocket, hand coming out empty. 

“..I don’t have my phone.”

Your foot taps against the cold cafeteria floor.

“What?”

Tajiro sighs. “He has one.” His eyes roll to his new friend. “It’s somewhere.” He fishes his own phone out of his pocket. 

“I’ll give you his number.”

You save the number before tapping the camera icon.

“Say cheese!” you squeal, lifting your phone before either of them can protest.

Click!

“For your contact.” 

“..Oh.”

You close your phone, slipping it in your purse before turning on your heels to head out the cafeteria. 

“Thanks, Tanjiro.” you wave over your shoulder.

He smiles. 

“No problem.”

You reach the cafeteria doors, hearing the frantic murmurs of questioning bystanders. 

Did she just ask him to the dance? 

No way. Lucky bastard! 

Why the new guy? 

Isn’t she with the football star, Shinazugawa?

You pretend not to hear them, the stolen gum still clicking between your teeth. 

You won. Yet you don’t feel victorious.

You glance back at the sophomore table. 

Muichiro has already resumed his conversation with Tanjiro, no longer holding your gaze. 

You frown. 

Weird. 

You push through the doors, the soft click of your wedges echoing behind you.

Part 2

~