He should have known that this was a bad idea. But Zuko is not known for following his own instincts (or else the reason that this is a bad idea probably wouldn't have happened), so he's here, even if it's not entirely of his own volition.

His sister and her friends had dragged him to this frat party, with the cigarette and weed smoke curling in the air and the too-loud music vibrating in his skull. They thought he needed a change of scenery, to get out. Ty Lee had been telling him for weeks that his aura is messed up, and Azula was mostly tired of him moping around.

Mai, on the other hand, has been content to mope with him. The two of them have spent many hours holed up in his apartment listening to depressing music and lamenting about the injustices of the world (which mostly means he was bitching about Katara and she was complaining about her stifling parents). It's been a strange change from the awkward post-breakup funk they've been in for the last few years since their split, but it hasn't really taken away the ache in his chest.

So now he's here, sitting on a stool in a dark corner of the room, nursing a rum and Coke after the half-dozen shots of vodka he'd pounded with Ty Lee. He's still moping and wondering when he should make his escape, and if he can do so without his sister's notice.

He's never been the type who enjoys parties. The atmosphere overwhelms him: the bodies packed together, the room too hot, drunken laughter and groping hands, practically fucking on the dance floor with clothes on. No, Zuko is far more comfortable holed up in his apartment with video games or a book and music that isn't cutting into his eardrums and making his head hurt.

He could stand this party a lot more if the reason for his recent bout of melancholy wasn't just across the room curled up in the lap of someone who is not him, with her hands carding through someone else's hair as that someone else kisses her. Zuko can spot Katara anywhere, and he should have fucking known that she would be here.

Katara is vibrant and full of life. She never misses the good parties (and she doesn't miss her lectures or deadlines either; he's always envied her for being able to maintain a social life and flawless grades). It's just one more polarity between them. And she's always the life of the party.

Her laughter lights up a room and she has this...this magnetic pull that draws people in, like she's a sun and everyone else is just a planet caught in her gravitational pull.

And somehow, somehow, although he's basically the human equivalent of fucking Pluto, he'd fallen into her orbit almost a year ago. Azula had asked him to pick up her lecture notes from her study partner, and that study partner had been Katara. From there it seemed like they just kept coincidentally running into each other.

He'd liked her from the start and it didn't take long for him to realize that he wanted more, but he never had the nerve to ask her out. She was so far out of his league that it wasn't funny; she was the sun and he was just a dwarf planet, too far away to be caught in her brilliance.

Then, to his surprise, Katara had asked him out on a coffee date. He'd fumbled his way through the date and he'd managed to kiss her when he walked her to her dorm without making a complete fool of himself, hoping and praying she'd had a good time. He'd been shocked when she'd leaned up to press her lips to his cheek and whisper in his ear, "I'd like to see you again."

And that had begun their May-November romance. It was passionate and fiery, full of steamy nights in his bed but also pancakes in the morning; study sessions in her dorm; movie dates and long walks. It was like something out of a movie. It was the closest Zuko has ever come to tasting perfection, but just like all the good things in his life, he doused it in gasoline on it and set it on fire.

He knows exactly where it went wrong. Katara is an open book; he could always tell exactly what she was thinking and feeling. Not that he really had to see it anyway, because Katara would always talk to him about everything. Bad day? He listened to her rant over a glass of wine and take-out. She was missing her dad and grandmother? He offered her comfort. Her idiot brother had pissed her off? Zuko knew every detail, and he'd make her laugh by threatening to kick his ass. And he listened to all of it in rapture, so utterly in love with her that he still can't quite fathom it.

But that isn't the problem. The problem, as it so often is in his life, was him. He was the opposite of Katara. Zuko may as well have been a monk who'd taken a vow of silence. He couldn't open up to her, not about the deep stuff that really mattered, and he even struggled with the menial shit.

How was your day?

It was good.

Anything interesting happen?

No, not really.

Come on, not one funny or cool thing?

No...not that I can think of.

Zuko thinks maybe now that it was the menial shit that really did them in. Katara could understand why he didn't talk about his dad, or his scar, or his mom. She didn't pry, only gently encouraged him: I'm always here if you want to talk...I get it. I'm a member of the Dead Moms club too...you can tell me anything. Like he was some broken thing she wanted to piece back together.

But no, what got to Katara, to them, was the fact that he couldn't talk about anything. It was the little things, as it so often is. Katara wanted something meaningful from him, but Zuko couldn't give it to her. He's spent too many years of his life burying himself, hiding behind walls. He couldn't break them down for her, no matter how hard he tried.

And so their May-November romance ended in a yelling match as Katara frantically packed her things in his apartment—emptying the drawer of her clothes and grabbing her records and books and favorite coffee mug—tears streaming down her face as she demanded to know why, why couldn't he let her in, just a little bit? Then she'd run out of the apartment and away from him and into the pouring rain. Zuko had followed after her, wanting to say something, anything, to make her stay, to tear down the walls that guillotined his tongue.

But when he opened his mouth no words would come out, and he watched her drive away, feeling his heart implode in his chest like a supernova.

Things have been rather shit since then. He's fallen into a depression, missing classes, growing an awful, scruffy beard, drinking way too much (texting Katara while he was drunk, which she never responded to). He's slowly picked up the broken pieces, but he still just holds them in his hands, the sharp edges cutting into his palms.

She is the best thing he'd ever had, and he'd let her slip through his fingers. He is a fucking idiot.

They haven't crossed paths much in the three months since the break-up. He's grateful for it. He doesn't think he could stand it.

But now she's here, right across the room, making out with a guy he knows vaguely from his sociology course last semester. Jet. The guy's good-looking, charming and charismatic. He's outgoing, and Zuko understands why Katara would like someone like Jet. He's the opposite of Zuko.

But Zuko also knows a bit about Jet from hours spent in the same lecture hall. He's jaded and arrogant, brutal honesty bordering on being a dick with a superiority complex thrown into the mix. He's self-righteous and crass. He's not good for Katara. He'll take her sun and kill it.

His hand curls around the cup in his hand until the plastic crinkles, and Zuko forces himself to exhale and loosen his grip. There's nothing he can do. Just like with him, this is a lesson Katara will have to learn on her own.

His blood ticks hotly and his anger flares as he watches as Jet's hands slide up her thighs, exposed in a pair of denim shorts, and cup her hips. He thinks about how it was once his hands on her hips, his lips against hers, the smell of his cologne clouding in her nose, and now it's not.

Zuko slides off of his stool and the room spins. He pours the rest of his drink down his throat before he weaves through the crowd, suddenly feeling a lack of oxygen in the air. He needs to get out of here now, before he makes a fool out of himself.

He shoulders his way past people, earning a few glares and snapped "watch it"'s as he goes. The kitchen is less crowded and he grabs a beer out of a case sitting on the counter before he slides the screen door open and steps out into the sticky night.

It's late spring now, and he can smell summer on the air. Classes end in a month and he'll be graduating. He's got job interviews lined up, some as far away as the North Pole, because he can't stand to be in this city any longer, not when he knows Katara's favorite haunts and he thinks about how easy it would be to find her there. How easy it would be to beg for her forgiveness and to tell her how much he loves her.

Zuko steps around the people milling around on the porch. Cigarette smoke hangs like thick fog in the still air and he drops onto the porch steps that lead out into the yard. There's a couple making out a few steps down, but they're not Jet and Katara so it doesn't matter. He cracks open his beer and drinks deeply from it. He tries not to think about Katara with Jet back on the love seat, and fails.

He breaks everything he touches. It's a sentiment that his father has drilled into his head since boyhood, and the older Zuko gets, the more he thinks that Ozai is right.

He hurt Katara and he knows it. She was willing to be with him, to love him, and he's pissed it away. She was—is—so perfect, and he's just this broken thing. How did he ever think he was worthy to stand in her sunlight?

"Oh no. Did you see them?"

Zuko looks up and finds that Ty Lee is standing on the step beside him. She sits down beside him, smoothing out the flower-print skirt that falls just above her knees, her soft grey eyes watching him sympathetically.

"Yeah, I saw them," he mutters. Then he takes another drink off of his beer and doesn't say anything else.

Ty Lee leans her head on his shoulder and sighs. "I'm sorry, Zuko."

This is his and Ty Lee's friendship. They're close, and he adores her. They share the commonality that their parents demand perfection, although he thinks sometimes that Ty Lee has it worse. Her parents not only demand perfection, but she has to be perfectly like her five sisters too. Both of them want nothing more than to break free. So they're friends, maybe best friends, and Ty Lee is an affectionate person who offers comfort through touch.

Most relationship partners might get jealous of that, of the way Ty Lee will loop her arm around his waist or ruffle his hair, or jump on his back for a piggy-back ride, but there's never been anything like that between them. Katara was never jealous of Ty Lee, and the two of them hit it off so well that soon Ty Lee was holding Katara's hand or braiding her hair and giving her platonic kisses on the cheek. He knows that Ty misses her too, and it's just one more thing that he's broken.

"I'll be okay," he tells her after a moment. "I always am."

She links her arm through his and gives him a squeeze. "You keep saying that, but you haven't been okay since the split."

His throat feels tight. "I'm trying to be."

Ty Lee huffs out another breath and doesn't say anything for a moment. Zuko drinks his beer and listens to the pulsating music coming from the house.

He should have tried harder. He should have fought for her. Zuko never should have let her leave that night. He should have torn down his walls and opened up and told her, I'm afraid to talk to you in case you see how broken I am and don't want me anymore. That would have been better than letting her go thinking he just didn't care, that he didn't like her that much. It's killing him.

Ty Lee's voice cuts into his thoughts. "Maybe you should talk to her."

He looks down at her. "You think I haven't tried?"

Ty Lee peers up at him, arching one delicate brow. "I don't mean by drunk-text. Have you actually talked to her since the breakup?"

Zuko clears his throat and looks away. "Ah, no."

"Then maybe you should."

His brow furrows. "You don't think it'd be weird? That too much time has passed?"

Ty Lee lifts her head from his shoulder and puts her hand on his face to guide him until he's looking at her.

"Zuko," she says. "That girl loves you. I saw the way she looked at you! I would bet all of my Gucci bags that she would be willing to give you a second chance."

"I think it might be too late," he mutters bitterly. "Looks like she's pretty happy with that Jet guy."

Ty Lee puckers her lips thoughtfully. Then she brightens. "But you don't know that."

"Maybe, maybe not, but I don't want to make a complete ass out of myself either."

Ty Lee considers that for a moment before she brightens again. "At the very least, you can make amends, don't you think? That way there's no bad blood between you and maybe it'll help you get over her."

He thinks about Katara and how she's like the sun. Their solar system simply wouldn't just get over the loss of the sun, would it? So how can he ever hope to?

But Ty Lee is looking at him expectantly, still smiling warmly, so he finds himself nodding in agreement.

"Okay," he says. "I'll talk to her."

And that is how he finds himself tossing pebbles at Katara's dorm window at three in the morning. (He would have just texted her, he tells himself, if Azula hadn't deleted her number from his phone the last time he'd drunk-texted Katara.) He sees the faint yellow glow of light through the blinds so he knows she's home (although he has no idea if she has company or not, but he's drunk enough that he doesn't really give a shit). But he's thrown three pebbles and hasn't gotten a response.

This was a stupid fucking idea, he thinks as he throws the fourth pebble. It glances off the window and hits him in the head. He winces and rubs at the smarting skin. It's like the universe is mocking him.

"This is a stupid fucking idea," he says out loud now, but he still throws another pebble.

Suddenly the blinds part and someone is looking down at him. Zuko offers an awkward wave, wondering if she'll open the window and tell him to fuck off, or come inside. Maybe she'll just ask what he's doing there.

Instead, she does none of the above. She lets the blinds close, leaving him staring stupidly at the window. Zuko lets his hand fall to his side and the pebbles slide between his fingers onto the grass beneath his feet as a feeling of dejection washes over him.

Okay, so Ty Lee was wrong. Obviously, Katara doesn't want to see him. And that honestly makes a lot of fucking sense. He broke her fucking heart. He shouldn't have listened to Ty Lee—

But suddenly, the window to the left of the one he's been tossing pebbles at slides open. Then Katara is sticking her head out, her dark hair framing her face. Zuko's breath catches in his throat.

"Zuko, what the hell are you doing? It's three in the morning," Katara calls down to him.

He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish now and speechless since she's actually here. All of the things he had wanted to say seemed to die on his tongue and he swallows hard, pushing past that. This is his only chance. He can't fuck it up now.

"I...wanted to see you. I'm sorry."

Katara lets out an audible sigh and props her chin in her hand, bracing her elbow on the window sill. Zuko cranes his neck to look up at her, feeling his heart spasming in his chest and his stomach doing nervous flips. He feels a little nauseous, but he's not gonna puke. That would be embarrassing.

"Well, you were bugging my neighbor during an all-night study session," Katara tells him with some irritation coloring her tone. Then she lets out a short chuckle. "You were throwing rocks at the wrong window, you idiot."

Zuko blinks stupidly as his eyes slide between the window she's hanging out of and the one he'd been throwing pebbles at, feeling his cheeks heat up. He traces the gap between the windows with his fingertip.

"Oh. I thought…"

Another sigh. "It's fine. You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah." Zuko clears his throat. "Um, so you wanna come down here? Or—or I can come up? It's no problem…"

He watches her closely as he trails off. Even from the distance he can see that she's frowning with uncertainty.

"I don't know," she says after a moment. "I just...don't know."

Zuko feels like he's been punched in the gut and he's regretting every decision he's made that has led him to this moment.

When he opens his mouth, it's like all the walls that have held his tongue have fallen away. He almost doesn't recognize the words he says even though he feels the rumble in his chest and the vibrations of his own vocal chords.

"This is the part where, if this was one of those rom-coms you love, where the guy shows up with a boombox on his shoulder and confesses his love for you," Zuko says. "So I guess I'm here to do that. And to apologize too."

He sees her lips quirk up just so. "You're no Jake Ryan."

Zuko spreads his hands wide. "I know. I'm just me. And I know that I don't deserve even a second of your time, but Katara, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for letting you leave like that, for not being better. I was trying, but I just wasn't trying hard enough. And you deserved—deserve—so much better than that. So I'm sorry."

He bites down on his tongue and waits for her to say something. Katara just looks down at him for several long seconds, the silence stretching out between them until Zuko thinks he might just burst if she doesn't say something, anything, even if it's to tell him to fuck off and never come back.

But then she says, "Hold on. Let me put my shoes on" and ducks back inside.

Zuko rocks on the balls of his feet while he waits for her. His heart is a drumbeat and his stomach is twisting nervously, but he's trying to tell himself that this is a good thing. If she's coming down, maybe she's willing to talk. Or she's going to kick him in the nuts. Either way, she's coming out to see him and whatever she does, whatever happens, it's worth it.

Then he hears her footsteps ghosting across the dew-soaked grass and he looks up at her. She's still wearing her denim shorts, and he recognizes the ratty blue Chuck Taylors on her feet, but she's added a black hoodie to the mix that looks awfully familiar—

"Is that my jacket?" he blurts out like a fucking idiot.

Katara pulls up short and glances down. She won't quite look him in the eye when she looks up and mutters, "Oh, yeah. I guess it is. Sorry. Do you...want it back?"

He shakes his head. "No. It looks better on you than it does on me." Zuko sucks in a breath between his teeth. "Sorry. Did not mean to say that."

She snorts. "Are you drunk?"

"Maybe a little."

She lets out a small laugh. "Yeah, I'm a little drunk too. I went to this stupid frat party tonight. It was a bad idea."

"Oh."

He blinks as he digests that. Does that mean that things didn't go well with Jet? Zuko tries not to think about what that might mean. He hopes Jet didn't hurt her. If he did…

"Um, so, you wanted to see me?" Katara prompts, interrupting his train of thought, which is probably a good thing.

He realizes he's been staring at her silently for a solid ten seconds and it's become more than a little awkward. He clears his throat before he manages to speak again.

"Yeah...I've just…"

His words die on his lips and Zuko huffs out a frustrated breath. It's like it's always been. Like there's some barrier on his tongue and he can't push past it.

"I've been thinking about you," he finishes lamely.

Katara's brow knits. "You've been thinking about me."

It's not a question, but a statement. Zuko thinks that maybe he's fucking this up, and she's about to give up and go back inside. So he takes a breath to steel his nerves and presses doggedly on.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you, actually," he says. "Not since you left that night."

He hears the way her breath catches in her throat as she takes a half-step back from him. Her hand flutters to the necklace at her throat, the one he knows was given to her by her mother when she was just a kid, before her mom died. It's something she does, a tick that's for comfort. She smooths her thumb over the pendant as her jaw works, as if she's trying to find her voice.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you, either," she whispers.

Zuko gapes at her. He can't help it. "You haven't?"

Katara nods, letting her hand fall to her side before she slips it into her hoodie pocket. "Yeah, I haven't. I never really felt right, leaving things the way that we did."

Zuko lets out a shaky breath as some emotion washes over him. It feels kind of like relief, but it's something more than that.

"You were the best thing I ever had," Zuko murmurs. "And I pushed you away. I fucked it up. It blew up in my face, like everything always does."

He rakes one hand through his hair and turns away, suddenly angry with himself. He knows that he's the one to blame, but he's ashamed to admit it out loud, and to Katara, no less.

She takes a step forward, reaching out to him. "No, don't blame yourself—"

Zuko takes a step back before she can touch him, shaking his head. "No, don't do that. Don't try to comfort me and act like it's not my fault, because we both know that it is. And I'm here because I need to apologize to you. It won't change anything, but I need you to know that I'm sorry, because you deserved so much better than what I gave you. I was a fucking idiot for thinking that I deserved you."

He releases a shaky breath. She's watching him, her blue eyes soft and wide, and he can see that she wants to comfort him. But he doesn't deserve it.

"It shouldn't be that hard to communicate, but it was. It is," Zuko presses on, babbling now, not even sure entirely what he's saying. "Because you are just so fucking perfect, and I'm a damn mess and I didn't want to drag you down. So I just put on a fake smile and tried to act perfect for you. And all I did was hurt you."

A single tear slides down her cheek and she wipes it away. Zuko feels his heart lurch painfully in his chest. He's still hurting her. He never should have come.

"I just wanted you to talk to me," she whispers sadly. "I wanted you to open up and be comfortable. You always walked like you were on eggshells, and you didn't have to. Not with me."

"I know that," Zuko moans despairingly. He scrubs his hand down his face. "But I just couldn't—I wanted to. But every time I tried, my brain just short circuited and it's like I couldn't find the words. I panicked. Every damn time." He shakes his head. "Because I think you might be the first person in my life who was willing to accept me, all of me, for who I was. You didn't want me to change. You just wanted me to be me."

"Yeah," Katara breathes. "That's all I ever wanted, Zuko. But I couldn't...I couldn't reach you. It was like you were always just beyond my grasp. I could see the real you, but I couldn't touch you."

"The real me is a fucking mess," he says with a bitter laugh.

"No, you're not," Katara says insistently, stepping closer to him. "You are amazing, Zuko. Can I be completely honest with you?"

Zuko met her gaze. "Please?"

She offers him a soft smile. "I always thought I didn't deserve you."

He blanches. "Why?"

Katara twirls a lock of hair around her finger as she nibbles on her bottom lip. For once, it seems like she's the one who can't find her words. But then she lets go of her lip and looks up at him.

"Because you are so unashamedly you," she says quietly. "And you are sweet and funny and kind. You're so nice to everyone, even though you can be a dick. But that's okay, because you make up for it by being the most compassionate, thoughtful person I know. You always put everyone before yourself. And you were by far the best boyfriend I've ever had."

Zuko winces. "You've set the bar pretty low, then."

But she shakes her head. "No, I didn't. Because maybe you couldn't talk to me, but I knew you cared because of all the little gestures. Bringing me coffee in the morning and walking me home. You'd bring me books and records and flowers because you thought I'd like them. You'd watch my favorite rom-coms even though I knew you didn't really like them, but you paid attention and knew exactly what was happening. You listened to me every time I talked about something, anything."

Katara pauses to take a breath, running her fingers through her hair before she meets his gaze again. She offers him a soft smile, one that is so familiar his heart aches in his chest.

"You know me, better than anyone," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She bridges the distance between them and takes his hand. "Because you listened. So maybe you couldn't talk to me, but you heard everything I said."

"I'm sorry I couldn't get out of my head," Zuko tells her softly. "There's a lot of stuff in there, painful stuff, and it makes it hard sometimes."

"I know that," Katara murmurs. "And I tried so hard to be patient and understanding. But it was killing me to watch you suffer in silence. I just wanted to help."

"It's okay," Zuko mumbles.

She shakes her head. "No, it's not. Breaking up with you was selfish. I know you were trying. But I just...I couldn't deal with it anymore. It was bringing me down."

Zuko swallows hard around the lump in his throat. "I know. I'm sorry."

Katara releases a shaky breath. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have left like I did. I should have tried to make it work."

"No, no, don't do that. Don't try to blame yourself." Zuko shakes his head fervently, and it's a mistake because his head swims but he pushes through it. "You did everything right, Katara. It was me. Don't you even try to blame yourself."

"But—"

"No." Zuko grabs her other hand and squeezes them both. "None of what happened is your fault. It's me."

"You shouldn't put me on a pedestal, Zuko," Katara tells him reproachfully as she pulls her hands away. "I'm not perfect."

"You're close enough," he replies honestly. "Too perfect for someone like me at any rate."

"You're too hard on yourself," Katara says, and he just shrugs. She shakes her head a bit before she tells him, "Do you know how hard it was not to respond to your texts?"

He frowns quizzically. "So why didn't you? If you don't mind me asking."

She shrugs. "I don't really know. You were drunk, right?"

"Each and every time."

"Then...I guess I just didn't know if I could put myself through that." She sniffles. "I just missed you so damn much, but I was trying to get over you."

Zuko winces. "I'm sorry I showed up tonight. But…" He takes a breath to steel his nerves. "I was at that party too. I saw you there. With Jet."

Katara drops her gaze. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know you were there."

"It's fine." He shrugs. "You deserve to be happy."

"Well, then Jet is definitely not the way to do that," Katara mutters. "He was trying to get in my pants the whole time. No class."

"What an asshole," Zuko says.

Katara lets out a laugh. "That's an understatement. So I told him to get lost and went home."

Zuko feels relieved that she didn't sleep with him, and he hates himself for feeling that way. He has no right to feel any type of way about who Katara sleeps with.

"And now you're here," Katara says.

"Probably making your shitty night worse."

"No." She smiles at him. "This is actually the highlight of my day."

"So you had a shitty day too?"

Katara slaps his arm playfully, and it's just like how it was before. "Quit being so self-deprecating, you jerk!"

"Can't help it," he quips back, unable to fight his own smile. "It's who I am."

She rolls her eyes but she's still smiling. Then her smile fades as she looks at him. "I've missed this. I've missed you. It's always so easy to be with you. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like breathing."

"Yeah," he says thickly, suddenly emotional again. "I've missed you too."

She reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear before she peeks up at him. "Maybe we can start over? As friends, I mean?"

His breath catches in his throat as her words sink in. She wants to see him? Be friends? Start over? He almost can't believe it. And then he decides she really must be perfect, if she's willing to take another chance on a mess like him.

"Yeah," he manages to rasp out. "I'd...I'd really like that."

And she smiles at him then, as bright and warm as the sun. Maybe he's Pluto, but she has still chosen to let him stand in her light. It's more than he could ever hope for.