indefinite hiatus.

Lady Lazarus, Sylvia Plath

clean your room.  clean space, uncluttered space, space that doesn’t have miasma clinging to it can work wonders.  clean the dishes.  sweep.  take out the trash.  peel the clothes off the floor and wash them, and then actually fold/hang them.  take a long shower.  scrub behind your knees.  brush your teeth.  (this can be utterly exhausting, but try to get it done in a day, if you can.  the end result is worth it.)

pull out your notebook.  it doesn’t need to be a new notebook, but preferably one that you don’t usually write in, or that you haven’t touched in a while.  fuck moleskins.  the yellow legal pad will work fine.  sit in your room, or in the park, or in the library, and write a list.  count clouds.  describe all the colors that you see, and note patterns that arise.  sketch the cracks in the walls.  note the shape light makes when it enters a space.  talk about what the air tastes like, smells like.  what sounds are there?  even the white nose, break that down: air planes, fans, cicadas, anything.  remind yourself that you are sitting in the middle of a space brimming with detail.  remind yourself that you are not in nothingness and emptiness.  your world is fathomless.  it has potential.

drink cold water and try to eat something that isn’t processed.  it does not need to be fancy.  buy yourself an apple with the change between your couch cushions.  eat it outside.  if you’re someone who walks, walk somewhere afterwards, just to stretch your legs.  take your fucking meds.  remember that its a good thing that you are inside your body.  your body is a fantastic and endlessly intricate machine, and even though society has smacked a bunch of poisonous ideas on it, that doesn’t change its inherent worth and splendor.  take care of it.

read a novel.  underline your favorite lines, and write phrases that twist your heart inside your chest on the back of your hand with an ink pen.  read a novel like it’s poetry.  read poetry, something decadent but unpretentious.  watch a movie you haven’t seen before.  if there are free art galleries near you, walk through one.  take your time.  let yourself bask.  if there are patterns in what makes your soul ache, write those patterns down – marbles arches or soot crumbling bricks or dandelions or descriptions of dresses or whatever it is, write them down.

your chosen family is important.  remember, they picked you as much as you picked them.  the love has no obligation.  it is given freely and it is given from a place of compassion.  you are not a burden.  if you need to breathe, take a minute by yourself and just exist, but remember to go back to your people.  when they need you, listen and be gracious.  always be gracious.  the universe sometimes remembers things like that.

listen to new music.  link jump on youtube or related artist jump on spotify or ask the chap beside you in the cafe what their favorite band is, and listen to that.  listen to something that you don’t usually listen to.  we tend to tie up a lot of memory with music.  we are falling in love again.  the soundtrack needs to be specific to that.  

Go find a diaper bag? Iroh had said. Sure. Bumi’s answer had been short, quick, as they separated inside the baby store. A simple enough task for him to do alone, especially considering he’d already read online about what to look for in a good- useful- bag.

The place was not that big, but it sure was packed full of stuff. Bumi went by the strollers, the 6-12 month old toys and the bedding section too, on the way to the bags. It was astounding the amount of stuff babies needed, once it was all laid out like this. They’d already selected quite the collection of things, piling up on the counter, for baby Thale. Their baby.

Their tiny, little, very own, and very baby, baby.

Okay. A bag. There was a wall filled with them, in all sizes, shapes and colors. There were backpacks, and satchels, purse-like bags, picnic-like ones. Big bags he was sure could fit a little baby whole, alongside the diapers and a bottle or two. And there were small ones he wasn’t sure would fit two diapers and a pacifier.

And the colors.

Every color in the rainbow, plus a combination of them. Plain, striped, polka dots, and geometrical figures. Stamped with animals, and phrases and animal print patterns. Glitter, sequins and rhinestones, too. It was their own fashion show.

Bumi was just stuck there.

His eyes moved over the diaper bags, blurred in the mesh of colors, trying to separate one from the other, and trying to stop himself from crying in a baby store as his eyes started prickling at the corners. Out of all the things he could cry over in the light of recent events, a baby bag was not something he’d be particularly proud of, if he were honest. Even if it wasn’t really the bag.

It was not that he minded crying, and he could care less about someone catching him tearing up, here and anywhere. No, Bumi didn’t mind about that. It was just- his hands closed around a plush animal he didn’t remember picking up, pressing it against his chest. Moisture gathered in his lashes, little drops clouded his view, muddled the colors further.

It was just- his chest heaved with threatening emotion, and a tear slipped down his cheek. And then another, and soon enough Iroh was walking towards him, and Bumi wiped them away in a haste, hand reaching out for a bag. Any bag.

It was bright orange.

Iroh’s face was a mixture of amusement, and curiosity over the choice, if a bit too knowing. Bumi could spot similar feelings in Iroh’s love-filled golden eyes, as he inspected the orange bag as if it were a conscious buy and not a desperation act. Iroh’s smile had to be the sweetest one in the whole universe as he took it to the counter, a hand taking Bumi with him too, because he’d stay rooted to the floor there otherwise. 

Luckily for Bumi, the salesperson said it was a good bag. Iroh’s elbow nudged Bumi’s side, and he blushed, ignoring the fact that the boy behind the counter probably said that about everything he sold after all. They were offered a different color; blue maybe, given they’ll have a boy, black to make it more discreet, pastel yellow? 

But Bumi was already in love with that dumb bag, and his voice would betray him if he spoke, so Iroh was once again the biggest blessing of his life, very politely declining, and Bumi’s fingers eased around the plush. He still couldn’t remember when he’d grabbed it, but it was going on the pile of things they were buying. If anything because it was already manhandled, plus it was a cute squid, the baby’s own baby kraken. Their baby.

Their baby boy, that now owned a baby squid.

Four days later, Bumi laid awake at night. He could sense Iroh awake next to him as well, both of them pretending they could sleep, not daring to move a muscle in case the other did manage to do so. Not letting a word slip past their lips, in case they devolved into a renewed mess as they’d done so after dinner.

When he couldn’t pretend anymore, and his back muscles were as tense as they’d ever been sharing a bed with his husband, he got up. The bag was on the table, bright and orange, and calling him over. He sat to go through it, check everything they’d need the very next day was there. Verifying everything as if he’d not done it four times already, maybe even six, and two more with Iroh. He just had to make sure one last time.

And he couldn’t go back to bed, no matter how soothing the movement of the ship, or how warm Iroh waiting in bed was, the nerves were just too much. So he sat there, staring at the bag that somehow found its way to Bumi’s hands, until Iroh’s own found his shoulders.

A kiss was placed on his cheek, pillows fixed somewhere to his side, and then Iroh’s arms were pulling Bumi between his legs, head resting on his husband’s chest. Eventually, Admiral moved to their side, his nose booping their hands, and inspecting the bag, before he curled to sleep on the floor under the table. 

And that’s how the morning sun found them, Bumi holding that stupid orange bag, Iroh holding Bumi, their dog guarding their sleep once it eventually found them. It wouldn’t be long until the alarm went off, and they would have to get up and go pick their baby up.

“I have evidence of the contrary.” He changed places, leaving the bed’s step for the comfort of the mattress, and propped a pillow across his lap, to help him keep the baby in place to feed. His mother told Bumi it was better, because that way your arm strained less, and at first he’d thought how much can a little baby weight? He’d held Tenzin’s kids various times after all.

Turns out, babies are like little stones, especially when you have to carry them all day long. So he listened to his mom after all. Once Thale was in place, and stirring softly back into consciousness Bumi looked from his ridiculously tiny nose up to Iroh moving about the Commander.

“I have pictures of the two of you completely passed out, hands thrown out in odd directions, and even a mouth opened with a trail of drool. Not saying whoof the two though, to save your dignities.” He laughed, Thale stretched in his spot, squirming against Bumi’s chest, a hand went down to scratch at his belly. That always did the trick, and soon enough his eyes were blinking open.

“Hey, sleepy head.” Bumi cooed, his answer, a gurgle that had become one of his favorite sounds in the world, after Iroh’s voice whispering his name. He watched as the pale blue eyes followed his voice and focused on his face. “You have to eat now, can’t have you napping forever, now can we? Or else you’ll keep us up all night, and then Admiral will be grumpy.”

Bottle in hand, Bumi smiled for a picture, and poked his tongue out for the second one. They’d been lucky- in more ways than one, of course, but- Thale was a relatively quiet baby so far, and after little fuss, he was drinking his milk. Bumi watched him enthralled for a full minute, the way his eyes half lidded, and his right hand opened and closed in the air as he sucked on the bottle.

He was such a beautiful baby, Bumi’s eyes travelled up to Iroh, such a gorgeous man. As if he could guess, Admiral walked into the room in search for some attention as well, dumb dog. How had he gotten this lucky? If he could, Bumi would just do this, stare at the loves of his life, forever.

“Come here. What are you doing all the way over there? I miss you.” He gestured to the spot next to him, by their son’s head, where a mop of dark hair was growing slowly but steady.

There was something feather-light in his chest as he watched them move, practiced, easy, the graceful movements of a father and his son working in sync. It was too early for Thale to begin to think of himself as his own entity, far too much, and for the time he would believe himself a part of Bumi, so too would Bumi remain a part of him, too. Conjoined, but for the times Iroh forced him away, to do chores, while he captured precious moments.

Guilt was familiar. So too was jealousy. The way the man moved indicated time spent with children before; his own brother and sister when they were born, and Tenzin’s little ones, and Iroh had no experience to speak of. All he knew was the love like fire in the hollow space beneath his ribs as he had looked into the boy’s blue eyes. How strange it had been that the rubbing of his unshaven jaw did not bother Thale as he had pressed into the heat of Iroh’s neck.

The message was sent, the cell set down onto the bed’s far end. Doubts as he may have, he would not deny his husband the request. Iroh crawled, hands and knees, over Bumi’s free side. He settled, as he had many times before, into the crook between Bumi’s groin and thigh, heat seeping into his side.

“He finds you to be terribly comfortable, too.” Rough, old, scarred fingers against the perfect slate that was his son’s forehead. Little eyebrows, lazy eyes, greedy, hungry lips. “I’ll soon have competition. I’ll never be able to take up as much space as I want again.”

Lips found Bumi’s clavicle. They sucked a greedy mark into the flesh. Behind them, the dog whined, and joined the heavily occupied bed with the groaning of mattresses and smell of wet hair.

“Can I say something dumb?” And he proceeded, before he was granted the permissions. “I was afraid to move, the whole time you were away. Praying he would sleep. Praying he wouldn’t need something. I still think I’ll hurt him. Fuck up, somehow. I feel safer when you’re around.”

And he slid against the bedsheets, down until he was even with Thale. A brilliant blue announced curious eyes. Iroh readjusted the bottle.

Bumi’s laughter was soft, even when it shook his whole body just the same. His hands found Iroh’s hips with a mind of their own, as the man settled on top of him. He hummed happily under the kisses, the sudden affection, but hesitated to further break the quietness of the room beyond the words he’d had for Iroh. It was not as if he’d be able not to tell his fiancee everything in his mind, no matter how much he could try to keep them in.

In fact, it was only the lingering threat from their little sisters, what kept Bumi from spilling his vows before the time came. They were so eager to be heard, ready at the tip of his tongue the minute Bumi’s mind forgot to keep himself in check.

Bumi’s eyes sat lovingly on Iroh’s, emotion had his chest warm, and his feelings a breath away from becoming tears down his cheeks and into the sofa underneath. His fingers pretended to fix Iroh’s shirt inside his pants, pretended they didn’t want to untuck it instead, and trail under it. The narrow shape of his waist, and the taut lines of his abdomen.

“A song?” Finally his lips worked, his mouth was dry with anxiety and joy, and the stunning man straddling him. “I would love to hear a song, love.” He reached up to thumb at Iroh’s lower lip, tug on it slightly, before pushing himself from the seat to meet his fiancee halfway in a kiss.

Bumi shifted so that he was sitting up, an arm keeping Iroh securely in place, lips moving slowly together until their breath ran short. He kept his forehead on Iroh’s for a moment longer, eyes closed to breathe the moment in, to memorize every second of this. “Sing to me, please.”

“As you wish.” The rough grate of his dry thumb slid across his fiancee’s brow, testing the supple quality of the flesh. Over the years, Iroh had watched Bumi age. The lines on his forehead had deepened, the ones beside his mouth promised fine happy lines when he was far older. At just over thirty, it was a ghost of a promise, a layline within Iroh’s heart to keep moving, to keep setting one foot in front of the other.

Sometimes his proximity to death woke him, shuddering and slickened with sweat, from bed. Sometimes the chill of the cool air reminded him of the stiff feeling that had gripped at him as his blood had rushed from his body. Bumi’s fine warmth sated him, melted his frost, set him aflame. Never again.

So it was with a keen warmth in his cheeks and a steady voice that he went on, a fool intent on embarrassing himself, the last argument he could make against their wedding. To have to listen to this voice again, day after day, in whatever capacity it entailed.

Cruel and cold like winds on the sea; Will you ever return to me? Hear my voice sing with the tide; My love will never die.

Over waves and deep in the blue; I will give up my heart for you; Ten long years I’ll wait to go by; My love will never die.

Come my love, be one with the sea; Rule with me for eternity; Drown all dreams so mercilessly; And leave their souls to me.

Play the song you sang long ago; And wherever the storm may blow; You will find the key to my heart; We’ll never be apart.

Wild and strong, you can’t be contained; Never bound nor ever chained; Wounds you caused will never mend; And you will never end.

Cruel and cold like winds on the sea; Will you ever return to me? Hear my voice sing with the tide; Our love will never die.

“It is nice.” She agreed. Izumi, his father and his sister… Kya archived that particular phrasing for later. Maybe if she was lucky enough, they’d be friends, and he would tell her more.

Izumi was his mother, that much Kya knew from the news, and the magazines, and she was sure she’d been introduced to the woman that very same night, although she’d met many people in a very short time. All of them crisp and elegant, and short with words, praising her before excusing themselves to whatever else in they were doing.

“I must be. Really smart, that is.” Kya knew what she was doing- or rather, what she was supposed to be doing. And that was making Zuko’s money look good in front of other rich people, so that they too donated, and other kids got Kya’s oportunity as well. Hiding in a very private family room, with the grandson of the man who’d invited here, was not the most polite thing to do. But she was enjoying it better; she liked Iroh much more than any other person out there, and that included Zuko, who was actually really cool. “It’s either that, or I’ve stolen the answers to every test I’ve taken so far.” Kya grinned at the boy of golden eyes.

“I plan on going away. See the world and help people around it, maybe work with doctors withour borders, if they’d have me. Or just go around places my title is good, and work for food and a bed, that would work too.” She rested her hands on the keys, the last note lingering in the air for a moment longer. “Although if you think I could pursue a pianist career, maybe I should consider a double life. Doctor during the day, performer at night. I think I’d last about a week, before I would have to be admitted over exhaustation, don’t you think?” When she played again, she picked Thriller, just to see if he smiled.

“It sounds nice,” he commented, voice vanishing in the tone of music she played. “To help people, I mean, not to live what would inevitably be a cursed double life.”

It occurred to him then that this was the most comfortable he had been at one of these parties, in the companies of a weird stranger, in the forgotten wing of his house. He’d previously entertained thoughts that if he stole away to the portrait gallery, nobody would find him again. Nobody would even think to.

It was a weight he didn’t quite possess the words to verbalize just yet, the press upon his shoulders and chest. His gaze wandered towards the heavens while the thought trickled into his imbalanced brain—just what did he want to do?

It had been a quiet day, waiting for Iroh to come back. Zuko’s estate was peaceful, beautiful; the pacific ocean stretching in a seemingly limitless blue blanket from the terrace, manicured greenery all around the place, and a secret around every one of the home’s corners.

He particularly liked the library, brimming with amazing tomes, striking paintings and comfy sofas. There was a corner in it, with a tall window, and a chess board on a dark mahogany table, where Bumi sat with Zuko- and sometimes Azula- to play whenever he visited.

“I-” Bumi lost his train of thought, tongue flicking across his lips. He looked up from his phone, those two little words had his heart thumping erratically in his chest, and Zuko’s all too knowing gaze from across the board had color rushing up his face. “I’m sorry, I- it seems Iroh is back. Outside.

“Rain check on the re-match?” He grinned like a teenager with a crush, leaning over the table to give the nodding man a rushed kiss, and head for the exit.

He wasn’t- as Bumi took turn after turn, inside the maze that was the home, he wasn’t exactly expecting anything. Nothing more than to see his husband after a whole day apart, kiss him, hands running through his hair, and ask about his day. If he was lucky, Iroh would be free, and they could steal some food from the kitchens and go hide in his room for a moment, before they had to leave.

But any plans Bumi could’ve had while going out to find his husband, this had most definitely not been one of them.

“Iroh?” There was a helicopter out, waiting right behind his lovely husband. Bumi stood in place for a moment, a whole minute, maybe more, taking in everything that was the man of his life. The navy shirt, and white pants that would stop his heart any day of the week. His mussed hair from the flight, the smile on his lips, Bumi lived for that. The flowers in Iroh’s hands were an extra that made Bumi’s grin widen and eyes tighten, that made his heart stutter.

“Iroh, what is this?” Bumi asked once his feet carried him next to his husband, hands caressing up the sides of his face, to leave a kiss on the corner of his lips. “Are you confessing you sold the boat and bought a helicopter? Because I’m not sure how we’ll be able to nap in it.”

“I might have.”

It had been more preparation than Iroh was acquainted with; more work than the ways he’d commandeered helicopters in the past, to fly from one Naval station to the next, to visit Bumi. This time, he had needed it for a day. A flight. He had needed to designate where they would touch down.

It had all been worth it, for the look on his face. Bumi’s eyes lit up like a child’s being given a sweet, and it was just that how he wore the same expression each time. Regardless of if Iroh were gifting him a crudely folded origami shape, or a trip by copter.

The blades still sliced through the air as Iroh met his husband halfway across the grass. The wind tore through their hair and clothes and god, but he felt so incredibly alive with his hair in disarray, his eyes stinging, the warm flesh of his husband beneath his fingertips and lips.

“Happy birthday,” Iroh whispered to him, gold eyes meeting the deep blues in an unmasked adoration, and then he was kissing him. Pushing the daisies into Bumi’s hands.

“A wild flower,” he explained, practiced hands touching at Bumi’s knuckles, the heavy ring on his finger Iroh had made himself not a year prior off the coast of Switzerland. One day, they would need to return to that place. “Like you.”

He turned to the helicopter. A single finger twined around the littlest of Bumi’s. He led him towards the vehicle.

“I thought we might fly today.” It was expertly that he hitched a glossy shoe into the foothold and hoisted himself up. Expertly, that he snapped the headset about his ears, and flipped down the mic. It was a lazy comfort, sleeves rolled to his elbows, fingers acquainting themselves with the various controls within the little cockpit.

[ sms - MY admiral ] a confession? [ sms - MY admiral ] oh- I’m intrigued. [ sms - MY admiral ] I do remember the lamenting, yes. What’s with it?