She squabbles through the mud, the sticky thing caking on the hem of her skirt. One of the three scraps of material she bound through some godly moment of luck around her hips. It's too cold outside for only one, even though, Spirits knew, she could stand the damn frost.

Whatever.

In the mass of people trying and failing to advance in the market, she could feel the man's eyes burning holes in the back of her neck and, every few moments, a chill ran down her spine, reaching her bones and making her want to curl up and hide. Psh . It's been so long since she's done that, and she's not too keen on doing it again. Damn him. Damn him and the chill and the thin layer of snow on the ground. His presence scared her shitless, and she'd like to think it had every reason to do so.

He, he being the man in the dark hood, dressed better than half the damn city, had been following her for Spirits know how many streets, and she doesn't think he's aware she noticed him. At least, she hopes so.

She listens carefully, while moving conspicuously. His steps are distinguished clearly from all the other trampling nonsense on the cobbled street; they echo and just how can steps be so heavy? she doesn't think she'll ever understand. Her own are barely heard and felt, and she takes pride in that, although it doesn't do her much good at the moment. His feel like goddamn earthquakes.

How this man hopes to go unnoticed is beyond her.

Then, a moment later, it clicks. Oh. Of-bloody-course he doesn't want to go unnoticed. His entire demeanor screams attention in the slums. It's not that he's a giant, he's not quite that. Neither does she think there's too much of him, not that she can see under his cloak, mind you, but the coat itself is thick and half the rats in the Spirit-forsaken market have never seen something so warm their entire lives. That, and the goddamn bag he's got strapped to his hip, blatantly enough for any half-blind pit-pocket to see and feel his fingers itch for. Ugh. She fights that urge adamantly. And the simple fact that he struts around like he could and would win a brawl against the entire street single-handedly makes her think him capable of just that.

Her lips curl in distaste and she scrunches up her nose. There's a man who looks every bit the paid hoodlum. On my tail. What a beautiful day to be alive. Fan-fucking-tastic.

She like to think she's one of the most unlucky ones out there, but that doesn't mean the goddamn Spirits need to go outta their way to prove her right ever so often. Life isn't exactly a cuppa tea for a street-urchin, and she's just that. Not that she's able of going in a teashop and drinking tea, first because the stuff's too damn expensive, seconded by that damn tea cups that need to be picked up by hand. Ming-hua fights the urge to laugh.

A wry sort of smile finds her lips. Taking an abrupt turn to the left, she skips across a puddle and smirks, feeling the sharp bite of ice, ice being a bitch to leather boots, especially ones as shiny as the ones the man not fifteen paces behind her flashes.

It doesn't take more than ten seconds and she hears a loud thud and a not-that-gruff voice cursing harshly enough for mothers with brats on their skirts to send him spinning to hell.

Ming-hua breaks out into a sprint, knowing that, if she doesn't lose him now, she probably won't have another chance.

Stepping on feet and receiving curses, she runs through the market, taking all the turns she knows and making the slums into the nicely set up maze it is. She hears him screaming after her. He's not behind by much, and that's way too close for comfort. Ming-hua swears as she passes a stand selling cabbages.

Inhaling sharply, she sees him running, so she kicks one of the wooden wheels, tearing the whole thing to shreds and throwing the street into chaos. She runs as fast as her small feet can carry her, not giving a shit about the desperate and angry yell of "Not my cabbages!".

Psh. Cabbages are smallest of her problems at the moment. First, she needs to escape the hooded bastard and then worry about goddamn cabbages.

.

.

.

Her sprint descends into a jog, at some point, her feet somewhat tired. Ming-hua is pretty sure she ran through the whole town in less than half an hour. Oh, well. She pants, puffs of hot air in her wake. Not that she's out of practice, but marathons aren't really her kind of thing.

She blinks a snowflake out of her eye. It's started snowing. Again. The nights are cold enough as it is, without the extra snowy sheets. Snow might be soft, but sleeping in it is a pain. Well, damn. She's never been to the Poles, but she's heard they're full of snow. Waterbender or not, she hates the cold. A chill runs up her spine. Ugh. It's cold enough in the dingy slums on the outskirts of Omashu. She doens'tneed more cold.

In a significantly less crowded area, she's the only passerby, as all sorts of animals move around stealthily, and the occasional poor sod searching for a warmer wall.

She reaches an old house. There's sounds upstairs, that means the family's home, but she doesn't really care. Maybe there'll be some heat for her, too. She reaches a small crack in a wall made of stone and dirt. Managing to slither through it and then covering the crack with a rag, she picks up from the floor, a small, dark room opens up to her, familiar in its run-down fashion. It's cold as fuck, but there are five or six people living in the same amount of space upstairs, so she can't really complain. There are some holes in the walls, and snow manages to get through the moth-eaten rags she's covered them with.

Most of the wall she faces is made of dirt, but there are also some bricks. She moves one with her foot, and she digs up some blankets, crashing onto them. She calms down, and her eyes widen in shock. Fear. Horror. There are three things wrong:

Firstly, the hooded man had called her by her name.

Secondly, she had covered the entrance to her home when she left.

Thirdly, she was not alone.

"Hello, Ming-hua."

She bolts up before he opens his mouth. Feeling the snow around, she's ready to cut his throat before his next sentence.

The hooded man is in her room.

He raises his hands in a peaceful manner. Ming-hua tenses up, not lowering the ice needles from his throat. He doesn't seem concerned, but removes his hood. She makes a sound of surprise. The man's not that much of a man. It's a boy, roughly her age, maybe older, maybe younger, she can't decide. His skin is dark and hair long, and he towers over her with ease. She feels like he's waiting for much more of a reaction.

Then, he smiles, awkwardly, and there's a little crease on his eyes and a precise angle of his mouth, that she frowns, and suddenly, there's a fucked-up, god-awful urge to look down instead of up, and thoughts like when did he grow so much flood her mind and she's confused, but he's unmistakable and she hears her harsh voice cursing and

Oh.

She looks up him in shock, her blades long forgotten, and finds that a little bit of childish fat still lingers in his jaw, but his cheeks aren't quite as chubby, and oh, fuck, she remembers the skinny boy she took care of during the plague, the brat who pestered her for ages, who's seen her make water ribbons, and has it really been almost ten years and oh, Spirits, but she's too shell-shocked and ends up gaping like a fish, while he bursts out laughing, and his voice still cracks and fuck.

He -Ghazan- doesn't wait for the moment to sink in, and he grabs her and crushes her in a bear hug, and Spirits, she wants hands and fingers to clutch the wool around his shoulders, but she laughs whole-heartedly for the first time in what feels like forever.

Ages later, when they sit down and suddenly, there's warmth, because a little bit of the ground turned red and hot and she raises her eyebrows at him and he answers with well-known cheek

"Lavabender."

"That's fancy as fuck."

"Right?!"

.

.

.

There are bits of conversation she recalls in the morning light, after a night of childish excitement and warmth, real warmth, when they're on their merry way, Omashu far behind them. There wasn't much of a choice and her decisive stroll and the blasted happiness in her previously hollow chest are answer enough. They sound mostly like

"I couldn't believe my sodding eyes. I though it was impossible, but there you were. There was you face, and I thought I was dreaming, but then, you had no arms, and it was you."

"How long are you staying in Omashu?"

and

"I'm working with some guys near Ba Sing Se. There's lotsa people there, and we do jobs and work, but we're so well-damn-off. They take little kids, and teach 'em how to bend properly, and they give us a blasted home. "

"We're called the Red Lotus. And I've met a whole lot of shitheads" –she laughs-" but most of 'em are pretty fine."

And finally

"Come with me."

And of course, how could she have said no to that?!

A/N: 'lo, people :)

it's lovely seeing you all again, and this little sod is for the 2015 Probending Circuit Round 1. how could I miss the opportunity of writing mingzan. although this ain't romance at all, they're pretty good friends, too. right? xD

also, this is part of my headcannon that these heart-breakers grew up together in some orphanage. expect more of this idea in future (shoutout to Lady Elvira, since that fic deleted itself, this one's for you) :)

prompts were: the first time x makes an important decision, "nothing is impossible *insert fancy audrey hepburn quote*", the cabbage merchant and friendship. hopefully, this is not too late xD

if you enjoyed reading this, make sure to let me know in a review! ^u^

have an awesome day!