The Worst Kind of Way » freedomandeyebrows
Walking along the ridge of the roof, Zuko tried to figure out what the fuck had just happened. The day had started like normal, he'd even done his mending with minimal grumbling. But then he'd changed his shirt, and Uncle asked that.
It wasn't even the first time Uncle had commented on the marks on him, but then again, there usually wasn't a series of hickeys along his hipbone. And usually Uncle would drop the issue after a good chuckle with himself. but he just kept going, talking about young love and saying things like it's no wonder you've been in such a good mood lately and how wonderful it was for Zuko to have met a lovely lady and when would Iroh get to meet her.
Zuko didn't mean to say it. Well, no, he did, just—not like that. He meant to attempt to have a conversation. Or say it when Uncle was leaving and he had the day off. Or get Uncle drunk. Or maybe a note. Yeah, a note would have been best. Then there wouldn't have been that awkward silence that Zuko could actually feel, there wouldn't have been that weird noise Uncle made or the way he kept blinking, like the thought had never crossed his mind that maybe with the way Jet was always around him, always almost touching him, that maybe "friends" wasn't quite the right word for them.
And that's how he found himself up on the roof, jumping from building to building, his hands still shaking and feeling a little naked without his tunic weighing him down. Finally, after another handful of buildings, his hands were steady enough to think about possibly going back down to ground level.
Except—he knew this building. Jet and his friends lived here. Maybe it would he wouldn't have to go all the way down, then. Zuko could drop in on Jet. Maybe that would help him remember how to breathe. Or at least keep him from—Zuko swallowed, trying quash the panicky twist his stomach gave. Yeah. Jet would help. Steady.
A deep breath, a shake of the hands, and he was climbing down the drainpipe, somehow scrabbling his way over to Jet's window. Zuko crouched on the sill and tried not to think. About Uncle, about the 50 foot drop a couple inches behind the balls of his feet, about anything.
