Notes: I am blatantly counting this as Days 5 & 6 & 7. That's totally how this works, right? Also, get in bitches we're going old school fandom with a genuine high school AU. (I'm having flashbacks to the mid-00s...)

For most of Zuko's life the title of "most terrifying girl in school" belonged to his own sister. It had to do with all the cliche reasons like being class president, valedictorian, and captain of the women's volleyball team. Also, frankly, the fact that she's a bit of a psychopath. (See: the time she set her ex-boyfriend's house on fire.)

Then, four months into senior year, Zuko gets kicked out of his house and out of Sozin Preparatory. Uncle picks him up from the hospital. They move to a new city. Eight months later, Zuko starts over as the oldest senior at Republic High.

No matter what Uncle says, it's different. Social hierarchies he's known his whole life no longer apply. For example, Zuko's no longer "that failure brother of Azula". Now he's "that broody gangbanger who's definitely killed a man" which...isn't much of an improvement, actually. And the most terrifying girl in school? Well, that title belongs to one Katara Foster.

"So what're you in for?"

Zuko resists the urge to roll his eyes. Here's what he's figured out two weeks into the year: all roads end in detention, do not trust the cafeteria food, and public school girls have a thing for redeeming bad boys. So that line? Zuko's heard it every. Single. Day.

There's a hum above him and to his left. Blind spot. Kind of literally since it's his bad eye. Zuko doesn't turn to look at her. Any minute now she's going to get the idea. Any minute.

Instead, the girl pulls out the chair next to his and drops her bag on the desk. There's more noise. Like she can't pull out her textbooks and pens and shit quietly. But at least she's not talking to him even if she's still up in his space. There are so many other places she could be sitting. As in literally any of the other twenty desks that make up the classroom used for after-school detention. After a few minutes she quiets down. Got all her shit sorted out, he guesses, and now she's scratching away at...homework, probably. Which is fine. Zuko's been trying to ignore her in favor of chemistry equations.

Probably that's the weakness in his strategy. Chemistry is boring as fuck. Girls who smell faintly of coconut, who talk to him but don't pester, who hum old school hip-hop under their breaths are not boring.

Someone should give him a medal because Zuko makes it through all six of the equations due for tomorrow's class before he finally gives in.

He promptly regrets every single life choice that led him to this moment. Zuko's sitting there like an idiot. Lips parted to comment on her apparent love for Tupac but brain failing to come up with anything other than: oh fuck me.

Katara Foster looks over at him with a half smile on her lips and her wild curls tumbling over her slender shoulders. "Hey," she says. Like this is an everyday occurrence. Like they talk to each other. "I'm Katara Foster. Junior. We have chemistry together."

"Uhm..." he manages to choke out. It's not his finest moment.

"What's your name?" she asks without missing a beat.

"Zuko." Short. To the point. No room to fuck it up. Zuko wishes that she'd stop talking to him. Stop looking at him. Stop doing anything that involves him.

"Nice to meet you." The worst part is she seems to genuinely mean that. One corner of her mouth pulls up before the other when she gives him a full smile. It's a half second difference, a minor imperfection, but it knocks the breath clean out of him.

The bell rings while he's still floundering for words. Or maybe just air. Katara packs up far more quickly than she'd unpacked. Zuko watches her in a kind of daze. When she's shoved the last of her pencils into the front pouch, she turns back to him, dazzling smile still firmly in place. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? Maybe we can compare notes before class."

Someone, probably her brother based on their coloring and his impatient "c'mon, I need to meet Suki at the DQ!", sticks his head in to summon Katara. Just like that, she's gone, only a lingering smile over her shoulder to prove she was ever there at all.

Here's what he's figured out in the hour of detention: from a distance she's terrifying. Class president, valedictorian, captain of the swim team. Backpack pinned with slogans like #BlackLivesMatter and #NoDAPL and #YesAllWomen. Volunteer of the Year at nearly every non-profit in walking distance. Kind to animals, old people, and freshmen. Popular. Beautiful.

All these things Zuko knew. Acknowledged, even, in the abstract. Because from a distance, she's terrifying. Up close? Katara Foster is a goddamn revelation.

Weirdly enough, they almost become...friends? Zuko's really not sure if that's the right word for it but it's the best one he has. Because Katara insinuates herself into his life with terrifying ease.

Somehow she convinces Song—who'd spent the first few weeks of school giving Zuko looks that were equal part pitying and longing—to switch lab partners in chemistry. Song still looks at him, but now it's from the other side of the room. It's not so bad even if Katara can't deal with the Bunsen burner to save her life.

Then she introduces him to Sokka, her brother, who looks Zuko over skeptically then asks if he's any good at ultimate frisbee. It turns out he is. This proves to be a bonding point. Somehow this also means that Zuko has to join the school team and suddenly he's having after-practice pizza at the Foster's house with all his teammates plus Katara.

Along the way she does little things, like convincing him to apply for the job at the library with Mr. Tong and picking him to be her partner in gym, that slowly transition his place in the hierarchy from "that broody gangbanger who's definitely killed a man" to "that broody gangbanger who's definitely killed a man but is probably an alright guy." Which is an improvement. At least he stops getting so much detention and the girls mostly back off.

Zuko's grateful for these things but he can't help wonder if they're friends or if he's her project. It sucks. A little. But then she texts him at midnight to ask about the molecular density of hydrogen—like he'd fucking know—and he forgets to be anything but happy.

"Hey, what're you doing tonight?" Katara's voice sounds entirely too chipper. The way it does when she wants something from him. Or, well, anyone. And as she does when she wants something, she doesn't wait for an answer, just charges forward. "I'm on candy dispensing duty because Sokka's going to Suki's game and Dad's on duty at the station and Gran Gran hates small children. You should definitely come hang out and help me hand out candy. You'll be here by six, right?"

Zuko knows when to admit defeat. "Yeah, I'll be there by six."

"Great!" Katara chirps.

Actually, he's there by 5:55, which is some kind of omen. Not one he can decipher. But an omen anyway.

Katara greets him with a wide smile. She's dressed witch costume that's not anywhere near the neighborhood of "slutty". (Zuko is not disappointed. He's not.) "You made it!"

"Of course," he says. He tries to sound long-suffering, but he mostly ends up sounding fond. Even to his own ears. Which probably explains why she rocks back on her heels and keeps smiling at him. Oh, he's so fucked.

Then she realizes he's not dressed up. A faint scowl transforms her features and she points at him with her broom. Menacingly. "You need a costume."

Zuko looks down at himself. Jeans, work boots, a red flannel shirt. Weather appropriate. But not anything close to a costume. "It was short notice," he says, looking back up at her. Which is, for the record, entirely true. Given that she'd called him around three in the afternoon.

This doesn't appease her. Instead she narrows her eyes a bit and then says, in a considering tone of voice, "Maybe if we got you a beanie and a mug you could be an ironic hipster."

"No."

"Then how would you feel about lumberjack? I'm pretty sure my dad has an axe in the shed."

"...fine."

So they tromp through her house and out into the backyard. Katara sends him into the shed—which hasn't been cleaned or organized in months—to find the axe. Then she laughs at him when he comes out holding an axe and covered in dust. She takes a couple playful wacks at him with her broom before actually helping him beat the dust off.

For the next three hours they hand out candy to small children. Katara coos over all the costumes and genuinely seems impressed by even the shoddiest ones. Some of the neighborhood kids, the ones who actually know her, get a kick out of her pretending to put spells on them. Weirdly enough, the kids also seem taken with Zuko. At one point another lumberjack shows up—all of three feet tall—and tentatively asks for a picture with Zuko. Afterwards, Katara shows Zuko the picture she took on her phone, in which he looks fondly bemused. They blow through twelve bags of candy and it's by all accounts a rousing success of a Halloween.

After, he mutters something about going home maybe and she tosses her head back with a laugh. "Well then what'm I gonna do with all the leftover candy?" Which makes it sound like they have a lot more left than they actually do.

Zuko's not too proud to take the offered excuse. He loyally follows her past her Gran Gran sleeping in front of a UFC prize fight on TV and up the stairs to her room.

Katara's room is a lot like Katara. Neat, organized, clean. Everything's done in shades of cream and blue. All her academic and swimming awards have been lined up on her bookshelf. The calendar on her desk is color coded and has every single day filled in with at least three different things. A handmade sign (does that say Slut Walk 2016?) is tucked halfway behind her desk.

And even though he's seen her room in passing it feels like something important when he actually steps into the room for the first time. It's a feeling that sits in his ribcage and makes his breathing funny and his hands shaky. Zuko swallows and looks at Katara.

She settles onto her bed and says quietly, "So here's my room." There's a slightly wary look to her, like she's waiting for him to say something dickish.

"What's Slut Walk?" he asks. Which is maybe little dickish but he doesn't want to say any platitudes like it's nice. And he thinks she gets that because she rolls her eyes and smiles and launches into an explanation that takes the better part of an hour and half a bag of mini-Snickers.

Republic City gets its first snowfall in the second week of December. They'd all been out at the movies when it started. When they get out into the theater lobby after the superhero movie (Suki's pick) it's to the horror that is three inches of fresh snow.

Okay, so maybe only horror on Zuko's part. What can he say? Growing up in a desert kind of built in an innate suspicion of anything that falls from the sky.

Sokka shrugs and turns to Suki. "Arcade until the 6:30 showing?" Because of course they're going to watch the movie again. Zuko honestly has no idea how Suki puts up with Sokka. And he says that with the acknowledgment that Sokka's probably his second best friend in the entire world.

There's a devilish glint in Suki's eyes. "Only if you're not afraid to get your ass kicked by a girl!"

With those fighting words, the two take off toward the arcade, hip checking each other and shrieking like four year olds. Zuko takes it all back. Suki may hide it better but she's just as bad as Sokka.

"I'm glad he has her." Zuko looks over to Katara. The expression on her face is almost wistful. "After Yue..." A familiar unfamiliarity, that name, like so many things in her life. Zuko wants to know all her stories. Fuck. Katara shakes herself and glances up at him. "Anyway. Do you want to join them?"

Probably he should. But he shakes his head a little.

Katara tilts her head. "Too many lights and too much noise, huh?" Which is exactly it even though he has no idea how she knew that. Zuko can try to wrap his brain around it but she's wrapping her hand around his wrist. "C'mon, there's a coffee shop near here."

Sure, Zuko's not especially thrilled to go out into the snow. (See: it's innately horrifying.) But Zuko'll follow Katara anywhere when she smiles at him. "Okay," he says.

They make it two blocks. Katara's texting Suki their excuses and telling Zuko a story about the time her next door neighbor Aang tried to ride a deer. One minute she's at his side. The next...well, she's at his side, but she's on her ass and grabbing at her ankle with a too loud, "Shit!"

Zuko drops to his knees next to her immediately. Gently, he pushes her hands away and feels along her ankle in a practiced motion. Nothing's broken but he's willing to bet it's twisted. Beneath his hands, her skin is warm and soft. Zuko can't quite contain his impulse to rub his thumb along the tender skin of her inner ankle. "You'll be okay," he forces himself to say. "These aren't great shoes for walking in snow, though."

"You're telling me." Katara sounds kind of breathless and he looks up, worried that she'd injured something other than her ankle, but she doesn't look pained. In fact, when she catches his eye, her dark cheeks flush. "W-we should probably get up. Before the snow soaks through our jeans."

Too late for that, he thinks. But. "Okay." Zuko gets up first. Grips Katara's forearms and pulls her up as well. The ankle boots that started this all begin to slide out from under Katara again and she only keeps upright because of Zuko's grip. And while Katara tries to get her feet under her, Zuko makes a command decision only slightly influenced by the memory of her skin against his.

"Holy—Zuko, you can't—I'm heavy—oh my god, you're such a..." Katara's voice has gone breathless again.

"Just get on," he says. Gruff to hide the fact that he's blushing. Part of him thinks she's not actually going to do it, but then he feels her arms wrap tentatively around his shoulders, and her legs circle his waist. Zuko grips her thighs and straightens up. The weight of her on his back takes a moment to get used to but he figures he's got a better chance of combating black ice with his work boots than she does.

"Are you sure this is okay?" Instead of answering, Zuko starts walking, keeping a careful eye for more ice. "Right then." It takes a couple of minutes, but Katara ever so slowly seems to relax into their new situation. Slides back into the earlier story about her neighbor.

And Zuko very determinedly does not think about the press of her breasts against his back, or the warm rush of her breath against his ear, or the flex of her thighs where they wrap around his waist. Or the fact that if she were clinging to his front instead of his back, he could hold her by her hips, push up into her slender body, bite at her neck. Or the urge to curl his body over her, keep her safe and warm, kiss her until she's breathless with laughter and wanting and him.

It's a long walk to the coffee shop.

That night Zuko jerks off twice to the thought of Katara's everything and realizes that he's really, really, really fucked.

The school finally decides it's time to enforce the rule about students eating in the cafeteria instead of strewn across the front lawn. The timing of the rule probably has something to do with the snow. What this results in is a never ending pulse of teenagers crammed too close together.

Zuko's not sure what he resents more: the noisy cafeteria or the silent white shit falling from the sky. (Probably the cafeteria.) Makes for an interesting mental exercise while he slowly eats through the PB&J Uncle packed for him.

When he takes a sip of his water, he sees Katara across the cafeteria. She's in the lunch line with Sokka and Suki, but she's looking at him. Zuko waves. It feels like literally the most awkward thing he's done in his life but it gets him one of those patented Blinding Smiles that do weird, awful things to his heart. So, basically, worth it.

That's when his view gets blocked by a guy in a leather jacket and a Grateful Dead tee shirt. Zuko blinks and moves his gaze up. Fuck, what's this guy's name again? Jerry? Jed? Jet? Probably Jet. He remembers laughing at the guy's name and asking if it was one of those made-up goth names. Kind of a dick move, in retrospect. That probably explains why they got into a fistfight a week into the school year. Well, that and the fact that Jet had been kind of pissed about Zuko edging in on his "rebel without a cause" shtick.

God, he kind of hates this guy.

Jet looks him over in a way that's probably supposed to be threatening. "Heard you were seen with Katara this weekend." Okay then. Zuko raises his one eyebrow and waits. "If you know what's good for you, Himura, you'll stay away from Katara." Definitely supposed to be threatening. Also definitely failing.

"No," Zuko says. Takes another sip of his water while maintaining eye contact with Jet because fuck Jet, that's why.

It takes all of thirty seconds for the rejection to sink in. Zuko can tell the exact moment it does, too, because Jet's hands clench into fists and his sharp eyebrows draw together. "Fuck you, Himura."

Original. Zuko goes back to eating his sandwich. There's only so much provoking Jet can get away with in the cafeteria. Sure, the lunch ladies don't give many shits but they wouldn't tolerate an all out fight. Apparently Jet didn't get that memo.

Hands slam down on the table with enough force to rattle Zuko's water bottle. "Look, asshole," Jet snarls. "You're just a fucking project to her. She feels sorry for you." Again, original. "You know why? Because she knows. We all know. About how you got kicked out of your fancy school. About how your dad didn't want your pathetic ass. About how your mom left you because she didn't give a shit about—"

Zuko launches himself clean over the table with a roar that brings all noise in the cafeteria to a halt. For staggering heartbeats all he can see is Jet's smug face. Fists beat out a steady, relentless rhythm on the bastard's body. Jet hits him back but it's fucking nothing. Nothing he hadn't learned to survive from the time his mother left him all alone. All alone. All...

"Zuko!" Small hands grab at his shoulders. Pull at him. "Zuko, stop!" The voice is familiar but not. Pitched high with genuine fear. "Zuko, you're going to kill him!" Yeah, he fucking well is. "Zuko, please!" Tears.

And he pauses, fist still pulled back and ready for another strike. Some of the haze clears. Beneath him Jet's a shaky, bruised mess with a bloodied mouth. Not smug. Not even making eye contact. There're still hands on him, knotted in his shirt, pulling at him insistently.

Slowly, so slowly it aches, he lets go. He stands up. He looks at the girl still clutching his shirt.

Katara's face is streaked with tears. One of her hands releases his shirt and seizes his wrist. Ignoring the crowd around them, she leads him toward the double doors that open onto the front lawn, drags him away from the carnage he created. God, she's still crying, even as she finds their way to a sheltered alcove that's clearly a favored smoking spot. "Zuko—"

"Did you know?" he growls. Part of him doesn't want to do this. Doesn't want to know if he's really just a project to her because she feels sorry for his fucking miserable life. But that part's not in control.

"W-what..."

"Did you know about my mom?" Because that's the part that hurts worst. That's the rawest spot in his heart. The one wound he's never shared with anyone.

Even before she haltingly nods, he knows. Zuko takes a few stumbling steps back. Rips his arm out of her grip. It doesn't matter that it's still snowing. That there's easily a foot of snow on the ground. That he's not wearing a coat and doesn't have any of his things. That he owes it to her, his best friend in the world, to listen to her explanation. Zuko turns and he runs.