"Zuko," I moan, twitching my head on the soft fabric of my pillowcase.
"I know," he pants.
"I can't take it anymore!" I yell.
"Almost done," he grunts.
"Do it faster!" I beg him.
"I can't," Zuko scrunches his eyebrows, focusing hard.
"You have to," I gasp. "I need it, Zuko."
"Almost there," Zuko grits his teeth.
"Please," I whimper.
"Katara," Zuko's voice is gruff. "Would you just shut up?"
"No!" I jerk my entire body and Zuko comes down on top of me. We both cry out as he falls.
"Ugh, Zuko, get off!" I shove him every way I can, but to no avail. Finally he rolls off of me.
Zuko sits up. "Don't yell at me, you were the one who knocked me down!" He looks at the collapsed ladder on the floor by my bed.
"No, I didn't!" I protest, joining him in an upright position.
"Yes, you did. You flailed and your foot caught the ladder and made it fall down, taking me with it." He glares at me.
I try my best to pout adorably, but it comes out more like a face a toddler would make when he throws a temper tantrum. "Fine, maybe I did, but it wasn't on purpose." I lay back down on my bed, spread-eagle, and look at my ceiling. "Did you at least fix the fan?"
Zuko snorts. "I was about to, until I almost fell to my death. Luckily I had you to break my fall." Zuko leans down and pecks me on the cheek, but I still roll my eyes.
Zuko steps down from the bed and puts the ladder back up again. "You should have just had your dad fix this."
"But he's not here," I whine. "And it's so hot," I whine, fanning myself with a bookmark. "And don't say, 'should I leave?'"
"I don't have Sokka's sense of humor, Katara," Zuko looks at me as he climbs the ladder. "Speaking of Ponytail, you should have had him fix the stupid fan instead of me. You know I'm no good with tools."
"Don't forget your little ponytail phase, Zuzu." I wag my finger at Zuko with a smirk.
"Don't call me that." Zuko responds to his sister's pet name with a complete poker face.
"Whatever you say," I roll over onto my stomach. "Zuzu." I speak into the pillow, so my last comment is muffled, but I still hear a groan from behind me. I prop my chin on my hands. "Why don't we have air conditioning?"
"I don't know!" Zuko throws his hands up and the ladder wobbles. He steadies himself before grumbling, "It's your house, don't ask me."
I roll onto my back again and prop myself up with my elbows. Zuko's T-shirt is too large for his slim frame. It's almost falling off of him. It hangs so that I have a clear view of his pale but smooth, defined abdomen. I lick my lips. Zuko has a screwdriver or something in his hand and is fiddling with the fan. He pauses to wipe sweat from his brow and sees me looking at him.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing," I let myself plop back on the pillows. "Just watching."
"Watching what?"
"You," I wink at Zuko. "I didn't know repairmen could be so attractive."
Zuko rolls his eyes and returns his attention to the fan. "I need to leave soon." He mumbles.
I don't answer. Instead, I roll over again, in search of a cool spot.
"Why don't you just stay in a different room?" Zuko asks.
I sit up. "Have you seen Sokka and Suki? They can't keep their hands off of each other. My bed is the only surface I can count on to not be soiled." I shudder first at the thought of my brother and his girlfriend fornicating, and then more violently at the notion of myself treading/sitting/sleeping on the surface they used to do the deed.
Zuko snickers. "I can guarantee that you don't have to worry about that. But if you're still paranoid, you could spend the night at my house and room with Azula." Zuko grins wickedly. He knows I'd do anything before I had a slumber party with his insane younger sister.
I glare at Zuko. "You may leave." I wave my hand, flop back on my pillows again and roll around once more.
Zuko sighs. "Fine. It's almost time for dinner, anyway." He begins to climb down the ladder, thus depriving me of the excellent view I had of his toned stomach.
"I'll walk you to the door." I say, and roll off the bed.
Zuko folds up the ladder and grabs my dad's toolbox. On his way to the front door, he stows them in the garage, and I have a super girly Is-he-really-mine? moment. My knees don't buckle, but my heart flutters.
In the doorway, I stand on my tiptoes to give him a kiss goodbye, and then wave as he gets into his car and drives down the road. I stay there, leaning against the door for a moment, thinking about how lucky I am.
Then I shut the door and realize it's cooler outside than it is in my house and bang my head against the wood.
As I head back to my room, I get a drink from the kitchen and wonder how quickly the ice cubes will melt.
I reenter my room and hit the switch for the fan reflexively. It's too hot for any unnecessary motion, so I just let it be. I set my glass on the bedside table and lay back on my bed, closing my eyes. Maybe a nap will save me from the stifling heat.
As it turns out, trying to fall asleep while being cooked alive doesn't work too well. I roll over onto my stomach, as I heard that a lot of heat leaves your body through your head, yes, but also through your bum. A strand of hair falls into my face and I replace it, but it's blown right back two seconds later.
Wait… blown?
I open my eyes and look to the ceiling. The fan is spinning.