'Emotions are prohibited.'

He gasps. Cloth is spread across his eyes, and he leans his head back; lips pressed into a thin line. It doesn't occur to him, until much later, that he has played this game before. With another friend. Perhaps in another lifetime.

This is the worst form of training. Aang is emotional. That much is fact. Aang is too emotional. He fears, he cries, he laughs, he smiles, he loves. Aang is a romantic, somebody who falls desperately, tragically, viciously, and never recovers. He loves to love, and loving is what he is truly brilliant at – and so, for his emotions to be unusable, it destroys his balance.

Although the real blow, what snatches the air from his lungs, is how disappointed she sounds.

She isn't enjoying this. Which is disturbing. Aang swallows. Suddenly, he wants to look at her. He wants to see her face which he has grown so fond of lately. But he can't go back on what he has asked for. After all, this was his idea. He wants her to train him again. He asked her nicely to take him back to square one, cover his sight, frighten him.

Have her way.

They aren't children anymore. Aang tilts his head. They aren't children anymore. In fact, they're twenty-two. They're old, wise, and still terribly young. He holds his breath, holds it for longer than a minute, before exhaling through his nose. He can't panic. If he panics, then he will have failed. She has made it clear he isn't allowed to feel anything.

On the battlefield, emotions are Aang's fatal point. Eventually, they will kill him.

'Shall we begin?' He asks.

Aang thinks he hears her laugh. Thinks. 'Impatient, Twinkletoes?'

Well. At least she hasn't rid of her sarcasm. 'No,' he smiles. 'I'm just excited.'

'You're lying.'

'Only partially, though…? I am excited.'

'All for the wrong reasons.'

His heart skips. 'Oh.'

'And what did I say?'

'Emotions are prohibited.' He voices each syllable slowly, allowing them to sink into his mind.

The very idea, unfathomable idea, that he cannot feel emotions. Nothing, not even excitement, or anxiety, or calmness. There has to be nothing.

Aang sighs. 'Okay.' He takes a step forward, addresses his stance. Breathes. The cloth is tight around his head, and despite the lack of vision, he is very conscious of where she stands. Her known presence is enough to make him happy. 'Let me try.'

It is all she could ask for, from him – trying.

They both know he will lose. When it comes to emotion, Aang's defeat is absolute.

Blood trickles from his temple, to the floor. A rib is shattered, his chest bruised, but he is alive, and he can stand, and he doesn't need – want – medical attention. These wounds are deserved. These wounds were asked for. He trusted her to do her job, and to do it efficiently. This naturally meant there would be injuries.

He sits in the lotus position, chest bare and scathed. Eyes closed, shoulders upright, searching for peace he frantically sought as a child. Now, it comes easily. Gradually. He needs his silence, his space; he needs to be human again, no longer the Avatar. Just a man. Just a monk. Just a boy. Being this way, simply Aang, it's better.

Now, he can establish where he trained like that before. His former self, the Avatar from several centuries ago. Abandoning all emotion, all of his senses, and rejecting all things material. To be distant and detached from the physical world. To lose everything. To turn away from all he loves, all he has ever cared about, and become –

– free.

'Does it hurt?'

She's doing this on purpose. He can interpret her question in many ways. The wounds she inflicted on him, the agony of his childhood, or merely existing. Does it hurt? And if so, still? Aang twitches a smile, and as much as he knows he should, he doesn't ignore her approaching him. She walks differently now – lighter on her feet, more agile, almost reflecting an Airbender.

It makes him proud. That she has also learnt from him.

'Come closer,' he says.

She hesitates.

Comfort isn't easy for her. And while she and Aang have always been friends, she finds it difficult to share anything remotely intimate with the man. So, she stays put. Stubborn. 'No, thank you.' She folds her arms. 'Anyway, I got more fun places to be, than here.'

'You're leaving?'

'Aw. What's this? You gonna miss me?'

'I always do,' he mutters.

She regrets mocking him. Because, sometimes, he doesn't bounce back and he comes out with ridiculous things, like that.

'Pussy.'

'What?'

'I said you're a pussy.'

Aang blinks, frowns, and then looks at her. 'How?'

'You failed miserably at training. I mean, I was embarrassed to be around you.' She hates the fact he's started to laugh. 'You're a sensitive petal, Aang. I'm trying to comprehend the fact you, somehow, miraculously, defeated Ozai. And, on top of that, you're still here. Alive.'

Aang watches her fondly. Most of what she says is just playful banter, but he understands the frustration. 'Well, I didn't defeat him on my own. I have you to thank.'

'You're damn right.'

'I owe it all to my friends. I am alive, you're correct; but Katara, Sokka, Sukki, you – that's why.'

She isn't entirely sure where this conversation is headed towards. Aang doesn't tear his gaze from her, this soft, funny smile on his face. He expects her to retort with something smart. Anything to, at least, break the tense silence which has grown between them.

Instead, she decides to escape him altogether.

As she makes a motion to leave, Aang panics.

'Toph?'

'What now?'

'Are you not going to say good bye?'

'I don't do good byes. Waste of time. You only end up meeting each other again, anyway.'

Aang has to admit, she has a point, but: 'I don't think you've understood the significance of a good bye.'

If she could roll her eyes, or at least have the energy to express just how unbearable he can be, then she would do just that. Toph inhales sharply, trying very hard to maintain her cool, and doesn't walk away. Not yet.

To Aang's surprise, she walks closer towards him, following his prior request.

Impatience and irritation riddle her expression. But something else, too. This uncertain, timid side to her Aang rarely witnesses. From where he sits, he looks up at her, and smiles, wishing she could see just how she makes him feel.

It is maddening, really. He enjoys her company more than he should, and a part of him hopes she might feel the same. However, that is a mystery he wouldn't dare solve. Because Aang is an emotional creature, with too much strangling his heart, and he can't demand that from her.

So, he wraps an arm around her waist, closing his eyes, and presses his head to her stomach.

Toph doesn't reject him. She pauses, hesitates, because she has to figure out what he is doing, and what he wants, but this is Aang. He doesn't want anything from her. Just her company, her friendship, and her loyalty. Just the knowing that she is here, beside him, and they're together.

Aang holds her protectively, yet gently – he hasn't trapped her. She can walk away, push him off of her, do whatever, and he will comply.

When she rests a hand on his scalp, she can feel the very faint outline of his tattoo. Shaped like an arrow, wide and dominant over his head, trailing down the back of his neck and spine.

It startles her.

Although the tattoo has been described to her, she has never felt it. Never actually realised how massive it is, how hideous; how anybody could mark this man's body when he was just a child. Unable to consent, unable to understand, unable to choose.

She kisses him there. Where it hurts, where he can feel it, where it strikes an emotion in him which is so powerful, he can't help but hold her tighter.