Zuko hardly notices the way his arm instinctively folds around her waist, or the minute tremor of his knees; he focuses instead on her umber hair brushing against his hand, the taut stretch of her back, the way she leans forward and laces her arms around his neck. His fingers trace idle circles on her waist with a feather-light touch. His eyelids flutter shut against the weight of the sunset staining his cheeks a subdued orange. His scar throbs from the heat that rushes to his face.
The warmth of her, fitting perfectly in his arms, is something Zuko's never dared to dream of before now, along with fantasies of restless hands and chapped lips, the pressure of gentle touch against the burned area of his face. Water laps against the dock, the shore; he can hear it loud and clear, reminding him of the waterbender pressed against him, fluid and graceful in all the ways he hopes to be, in all the ways he's longed for. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder, he's acutely aware of their height difference – admittedly, it's about the same as hers and Sokka's, Zuko's just a little taller than her brother – just perfect for things he would never call to her attention.
He's also never noticed how pale he is, compared to her.
Her arm brushes his when she pulls away, tapping her fingers against his elbow. Her other hand rests on his shoulder – the position reminds him of the waltzes sometimes held at the Fire Lord's palace. He quickly pushes the thought away.
He misses the direct warmth of her face against his shoulder, her lean arms around his neck; his eyes fly open and meet with the cobalt of hers, with the sea behind them, glittering with the reflection of the sunset's orange. He doesn't miss the annoyed look an airbender casts him, but he ignores it – for now, his world could be described in shades of blue and amber, in his hands falling limply at his sides, in the blazing orange of an idyllic sky.
Each second seems long, drawn-out. The pads of her fingers are searing against his flame-resistant tunic, crafted in the Fire Nation for firebenders, and still he feels the heat through the dark red fabric. Her every touch is light as a breath; the seraphic smile dancing on her lips is all he can focus on, is all he grounds himself with. His head spins from their close proximity – positively reeling in her warmth, the vibrant blue of her shirt, the way her hair smells like her and makes him think of ice walls and crackling fires.
The scorch of her touch against his skin flashes him back to colored crystals and mystic water, of spiky hair and thoughtful fingers, of brief hesitation and apprehension. It reminds him of the hostility in her voice, the way she'd sworn she'd never forgive the Fire Nation, the sting of being shot down before even trying. At that point, he wasn't sure what it was – admiration, fascination – but now, now he knows.
All it took was a crusade of vengeance and some really cool waterbending.
She releases him from her hold, her hand sliding down his arm until it drops to her side, and walks by, to the campsite; he finds himself twisting to stare after her, dark hair swishing with every step, her retreating form but a silhouette against the bright sunset.