A/N: big thank you to romacharm over on ao3 for being a big help and looking over a scene I was really struggling with! she's the best. (and writes really really good fic)

Darkness. There was darkness except for the flicker of city lights against the beige walls. Everything was still except for the ever-restless city lights. Where darkness would have left the room black, the streak of light cast a grey dimness over everything.

Two figures slept curled in a familiar but unconscious embrace. The nighttime stretched across them as soft as the rising and falling of their breath and the night's shadows crept from one corner of the room to the other. With each passing car, the shadows widened and spread across the pale carpet. Ever moving, those faded lines of light curved with the walls. Up and around the colorless ceiling, across the foot of the bed, the city lights reached glowing fingers.

Softer even then the shadows were the blankets wrapped around their bodies and tangled round their legs. Zuko and Katara were curled around each other, lost to the present in peaceful sleep. Her arm was stretched up above her head resting against her husband's forehead. Her other arm was slung over her chest with her t-shirt riding up on her abdomen and her dark skin peaking out. He had his arms wrapped around her middle, one tucked under her body.

His pale skin was flushed against the rosey dark of her abdomen.

As they slept peacefully all of their cares and concerns, either shared or personal, had fallen away in the warmth of first light. They continued to sleep soundly, nestled in each other's arms. Neither conscious. As the darkness of early morning fled, the colorless passage of dawn into sunrise bloomed in the pale glow of morning.

Morning came without warning. The still quiet of their room was shattered by a blaring cacophony of beeps. A blaring staccato of bird calls. That siren of miserable noise pierced her sleep-fogged consciousness and broke through the still morning.

Katara awoke with a start in the tangle of her blankets.

Her very first thought was 'Why the bird calls?' What a stupid choice for an alarm.

The second thought in her head was more her body registering severe discomfort. Her cheek was pressed into the sharp bone of her husband's elbow and all the blood had drained from her forearm which was wedged beneath her body and the sheets. She groaned, dragging her arm out from under her. Zuko wasn't awake. Somehow. Or if he had woken to the alarm, he was choosing to fake his sleep.

She didn't care this morning. It didn't matter one way or another if he really was avoiding her.

Katara crawled from the bed and slapped her hand down on the blaring cellphone. Her fingers were as stiff as gummies as she fumbled with the lock screen and the dismiss button. The shrieking beeps cut out just as suddenly as the morning had greeted her.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, she rubbed circulation into her icy arms and yawned widely. She slid from her perch. Her feet were tender from sleep. They throbbed as she set them down on the rough carpet. Light fell across the dark wall beside their bed and she squinted at it. With a tink and the clinking of metal rings, she pulled the curtains all the way closed.

The room was dim and her tired eyes had trouble picking a safe route to the closet. She slid the clattering closet doors open. Her fingers fumbled through the hung dress shirts and slacks and she struggled to make sense of which shirt she was clutching in her fingers. It was no use. Her eyes were still too bleary from sleep to register what she was touching.

Propping her phone on her forearm, Katara slid the items bar down to flick on the flashlight feature. Somehow, she managed to shine the light directly in her eyes first. Ah, yes, that was the shirt she was looking for.

Katara pulled the mild floral blouse down and shrugged it on, fumbling with the buttons on her way to the bathroom. She rushed to brush her teeth and finish dressing. For once she wasn't going to be late, and yet she still rushed.

Throwing the bedroom door open, she tripped out into the kitchen. She caught herself on the cool laminate counter. Why was she in such a rush this morning? Well, that was simple. She had no desire to see her husband face to face. Not until she was forced to.

She neither bothered to brew coffee nor to make breakfast. Though, she did kick the bedroom door closed. It cracked shut with a bang. Instead of doing her usual morning routine, she rifled through her briefcase checking to make sure everything was in its right place. And, she yanked a light jacket down from the hook by the door. She pulled socks on and slipped her feet into a pair of dark flats. Swinging hair from her face and adjusting the strap of her briefcase over her shoulder, she stood.

By the time she arrived at the metro, she was early enough to catch the train right before her usual one.

Last night's conversation was weighing heavy on her mind despite how brief it had been. Zuko's frustration… why did he get to be frustrated? All Katara had asked was for them to spend more time with their families. How was that any fair at all? He had no right to talk since he worked at his own uncle's tea shop. He had plenty of interaction with the people that he loved.

Katara was not anywhere near as fortunate. She didn't get to see her brother or dad outside of holidays and she didn't even have a mom and she hadn't exactly had friends since college. And yet, even with all those things added up into the miserable reality that was her life, her husband was unable to put in an ounce of effort.

She grumbled under her breath, "Oh, I don't know. Maybe call up your sister? Maybe make more time for me?" Even as angry as she was, she kept her voice down. She did not have the patience this morning to ignore a single look from her fellow passengers.

It was beyond unfair.

Zuko was being unreasonable and he had been for years. This was nothing new.

As the compact train car sped through the tunnels, she grew angrier and angrier. All she could do was replay in her head the conversation from the night before. The man who was supposed to care for her most couldn't even get down from his high horse to make a simple call. It all boiled down to one single thing: her need for family was not a priority.

The train continued racing along its underground track. Katara continued to fume.

Back at the apartment, the very husband in question rolled over. Hair tickled his eyelashes as the cloud of sleep blurred the edges of consciousness. He lay still on his back for what felt an eternity. In reality, it was only a minute or two. Finally he moved.

He stretched his long limbs out, arms above his head and legs pushed out to the bunched up covers. Slowly, gently, his eyes opened.

He blinked up at the dim ceiling.

Weak sunlight lay against the darkened wall. It was a meager stripe of sun yellow fighting to make it through a slit in the curtains.

He stared at the stripe of light.

No matter how many times she shut those curtains, they would inevitably part again. No matter how aggressively she shut them.

From where he lay stretched across the bed, he could see little dimples in the paint. Whoever had originally painted the dull white walls hadn't been a careful individual. Bumps and scratches drew a scraggly picture in the newly tan plaster. Maybe it wasn't fair to blame the landlord. Maybe it was the fault of the construction company. Maybe… the drywall had been poorly executed.

His wife was gone.

Not six minutes ago he'd heard the front door slam.

Just as carefully as he had opened his eyes, he closed them.

Inhale. Hold for a count of three. A little bit of dried drool itched his chin. And then, let the breath out to the count of three. The air tasted like nothing more than his own unbrushed teeth.

What really registered to him was the almost moonlight scent of his wife's perfume. Clear but cool, not quite minty. She liked the scent because it reminded her of the new year? Maybe. Or, perhaps she had picked the scent for its pure water-like fragrance.

The mist of perfume still hung in the air.

Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale. One, two, three, four, five.

He rolled over right to the edge of the bed. His arm dropped to the fuzzy floor and he stroked the carpet. Cheek pressed into the wrinkled sheets. Toes scrunched up in the warm blanket. Even the sheets still smelled of her.

He blinked his eyes open, inhaling deeply, then held his breath.

Although he couldn't see a clock, he knew it was time to rise and get ready for his own day.

He puffed the air out, sighing into the still room.

Dragging himself up from the plushy blankets, he rested his elbows against his knees. He rubbed at his face. And rubbed again, rougher, hands scrubbing at his pale skin.

Heavy.

Weight laid heavy against his back.

He rocked forward onto his heels, pushing up from the mattress. It was a firm mattress, (the kind Katara liked), and it resisted the pressure of his body weight. All the same, his body wanted to sink into the doughy covers.

His voice was gravel, crawling from his tender throat, tender from sleep. "You've gotta get up."

With a bit more of the stalling, he finally stood

Preparing breakfast should have been simple. It was not.

"What to eat, what to eat…" He mused.

He opened the mini-fridge to bare shelves. On a second glance, he saw the groceries from his trip to the store the afternoon before. There was of course food in their fridge. He stared at the vegetables wrapped in their grocery bags and the tub of tofu, the carton of eggs, the two styrofoam flats of chicken. At the same time, he didn't see anything.

The energy to cook… it escaped him.

He puffed a long breath out of his open mouth and closed the fridge.

It was no use.

Katara hadn't even made coffee.

"Not that I drink it."

But that was a lie.

Zuko slumped in one of the chairs by the table.

Who needed coffee anyway? Apparently he did.

The question was really whether caffeine was a healthy coping mechanism. A little piece of his brain said, 'is there such a thing as a healthy coping mechanism?' but that wasn't a constructive thought especially so early in the morning.

He dragged a hand up from the cool wood of the tabletop and covered his face. What even was the point of breakfast. To eat? It wasn't a good enough reason.

He leaned back in his chair, letting his feet tip with the chair. Wooden legs on tile. A scritch and a thump as he lowered the chair back down onto all four legs.

The kitchen was empty.

He couldn't take the silence of her absence. It left the apartment still and too full of air. Too full of space.

Nothing was worse than the quiet, the stillness, the pale light of morning completely uninterrupted by artificial light.

It was almost as if he was drowning in the natural light.

It was cool and clean and… real. Natural. He couldn't flip a switch and turn it off and on at his convenience. It was outside of his control. It enveloped him in the hopeless reality of nature.

"There you go again." His voice was even raspier, crunching gravel.

Zuko stood, strode to the bedroom, shoved the door open.

He dressed as quickly as he could and left in just as much as a hurry as his wife had.

He passed the businesses all around him barely noticing the colorful trappings of downtown. Lots of people were already moving through the tight streets. He kept his arms tucked into his sides and his head bowed as he slipped through the bustling city. It was a ten-minute walk to his uncle's tea shop and he arrived without incident. The little logo above the door was a simple dragon twisted around an even simpler white jasmine bloom. He didn't bother to read the motto. It was painted in curving black letters against the windows. "The Jasmine Dragon, where modern tastes meet traditional tea"

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes against the image of the green dragon, and then he walked in.

His uncle's tea shop was small and quaint. There were a few wooden booths with cushions to match the logo. There were a few wooden tables to match the booths. There were blooming jasmine flowers painted against every wall, with hints of peaking dragons.

He made his way to the tea counter and the pastry display case next to it. He walked around to crouch in front of the cash register where he stashed his worn carry bag. Straightening, Zuko stretched long and full. Arms above his head, elbows popping, knuckles connecting and locking. He fetched his store visor and pulled it down over his chin length black hair.

Was it time for a cut?

It didn't really matter, did it.

He set about pulling down the tea leaf containers from the shelf behind him. He had to walk into the back to grab the big box of teas.

Set up was simple and, unfortunately, it left him with plenty of free brain space to think.

Uncap a tea tub, fill the main container to the marked line with the type of leaf. Recap. Put the big tub back into the box to take back into the storage room. Repeat with the next type of tea. And on and on he went.

Even with the opportunity to think, he did his best to empty his mind. He played a to-do list on repeat in the section of his brain that he was forcing to be blank.

Set out the tea… retrieve the glass cups… stack the single-serve teapots…

He could hear someone moving around in the back room.

Zuko had been working at his uncle's tea shop for roughly the past year and a half. It was not the first time he had helped out at the shop, but now it was full time. Iroh had been kind to his nephew during a work hiccup. A… company-wide work hiccup.

His father had never been unemployed. Azula had never been unemployed. Not even Katara had experienced unemployment. Those four months had been the longest of his entire life. The fact that his wife had been left to hold the weight of his unemployment for a full four months still haunted him. Sometimes, he wondered if it haunted her too.

There would never be enough words to describe just how kind Iroh had been to his nephew.

Losing his job had been… a final straw in his and his father's shaky relationship. Sometimes Zuko still played the words through his head.

"All I've done for you and this is what you do with your education?"

And by 'sometimes' he meant that those words and their cutting tone had rent-free space in the back of his skull. Sometimes the words would play on a loop, over and over. And over. All I've done-and-you–with your-all I've done for you-this is what you do-education-all I've done for you and this is what you do with your education? Cutting. Scathing. Those words carried a finality that said, "I always knew this would happen. I always knew you would fail."

Zuko finished with the tea leaves and wiped his hands off on his knees. The dusty residue of the loose leaves left little speckled marks on his dark dress pants. He didn't mind. He swiped his inner wrist over his dry eyes, blinking away what wasn't there. He set the final tub of tea leaves back in its place in the box. Straightening, he brushed his knees off again. Zuko then carried the box back to its place in the pantry. He stopped in the kitchen. His co-worker Jason was busy measuring out ingredients while his other co-worker Lan rolled out fillings.

Zuko smiled, the hollowness of the smile went unnoticed.

Lan greeted him with her usual cheer. "Good morning Zuko."

"You too."

She was a long woman with short black hair and pretty black eyes. She was also meticulous but quick. Her smooth long hands moved in practiced motions. Pinching a ball of filling, rolling rolling rolling between her gloved hands, and then dropping it on to a baking sheet. She always made time to say hello.

Jason nodded, but he was focused on his task. "Can you fetch me that- yeah- that."

Zuko handed him a wet rag.

Jason wiped down the counter space in front of him and pushed the mixing bowl of ingredients to Lan. She began kneading the dough.

Jason was the youngest employee of the Jasmine Dragon. He was 19? 20? College age. His cropped hair-cut always managed to look a bit unkempt. A cowlick in his charcoal black hair always caused his bangs to fall into his eyes.

Zuko had things to do and so he left the bakers to their thing.

His uncle's kindness was not the only reason he liked the little tea shop. Their customers were always friendly and the place habitually smelled of rich tea. The aroma was pleasantly floral and soothing. Brewing tea all day long and handling paper-wrapped pastries? What could be more relaxing?

And today, Zuko needed that calming perfume.

His morning passed quickly enough. Keeping busy was not a challenge. People walked in and out, and online orders popped up on the register's screen. It was noon before he even had the chance to realize it.

He stood behind the register. He was looking over the online order. The single online order. And yet… he kept checking the order, but his brain was simply not functioning today. The small tea shop had a handful of customers. A warm streak of sun colored the floor yellow. Soothing floral tea filled the air. The shop buzzed with pleasant afternoon chatter.

Zuko was hunched at the cash register.

He kept reading through the online order, over and over and over. His brain wasn't registering the letters in front of him.

He kept checking the online order but for some reason, his brain just wasn't registering what he was looking at.

"Heyo looser."

Turning at the familiar voice, Zuko grimaced. He wasn't surprised at their words, or at the suddenness.

"My usual." A rap-a-tat-tat of the smooth counter.

She was small, but not girlish. She wore loose-fitting slacks and a dark-grey ribbed sweater that stretched tight over her toned arms. A long white cane with a red stripe at the bottom hung from a strap around her wrist. Her dark hair was wound up into a bun at the crown of her skull but still managed to puff out. Her bangs fell just covering her eyes. Toph's eyes were green. So, so, green. And they sparked with mischief.

"No need to be so gloomy. I'm only using a tried and true term of endearment. What excuse do you have? Were you ignoring me? Did you just not notice me standing directly in front of you trying to get your attention?" She leaned into the counter, elbow propped on the pastry display case. She looked perfectly radiant. "Your uncle in?"

"No. He's been stopping in before closing recently."

She visibly deflated. "Ah, too bad."

"Where have you been? It's been awhile."

"Yeah… been behind on my paperwork. You wouldn't believe the drama bored people get up to. Haven't had time for tea."

"Uncle would say there's always time for tea."

"Yeah, yeah. But he doesn't have stacks of legal documents to proofread. Or interns to interview."

Zuko gave her his best attempt at an amused smile. "You in HR."

She snorted. "I'm blunt. It works out."

He tried to force a laugh but gave up and cleared his throat.

Toph leaned closer, looking pointedly in at his face. "Alright Jun, what's the wife done now?" She stuck her hands on her hips and raised a striking eyebrow. It was genuine no frills judgement. What she was best at.

He simply turned back to his register, putting in her order.

"I'm not playing around Zuko. What did she do this time?"

"She didn't do anything." He prompted her to pay and after she slid the card in the little slot, he started on making her tea.

The raised eyebrow lowered, and she raised the other one even higher. "Right. I believe you."

"What has you in such an awful mood?"

Utterly unimpressed, Toph smirked. "You can't expect me to leave you alone just by changing the subject." But she clicked in her pin number.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Alright, fine. If you really want to know, there's lots of things wrong." She pulled her card out, signed with a deliberate flourish, and ripped her receipt out of the register. "Dad called a few days ago. I know for a fact that his wife pressured him into it." She reflexively crossed her arms. The cane hanging from her wrist swung a bit, tapping against the countertop.

Zuko watched her from the edge of his visor but was careful to hide his expression and hold his tongue. Her birth parents were still together. He'd never asked why she refused to call her mother- mother.

"He called?"

"Yes. Some bs about getting together to talk. To… 'bond'." Her free hand raised to flick quick quotation marks at him.

Zuko grimaced. He tried his best to listen to her even though he didn't always agree. She was very hard on her parents. Of course, he'd never tell her that her opinions about the people who had raised her were necessarily wrong...

"Oh, so it really is going to be the silent treatment today? Is that why the wife's been bullying you?"

He grimaced again. "So your dad wants to meet up?"

"No." She fixed him with a very specific think you're clever, huh? look. "Wants me to come home for dinner."

"You-" should go. "Are you going to think about it?" He readjusted the sugar packet bowl and slid the washcloth along the counter's edge.

"No."

He didn't answer.

"And that's not all. They've been pestering me about getting a matchmaker. A matchmaker! You think I want to get hitched up to some rich lazy mama's boy? I know that his wife is going to pick the absolute worst candidates she can find. Because she knows just what it is that ticks me off. She always knows. You can always expect family to get under your skin better than anyone else-"

All of a sudden he could hear Katara's voice in his head. Her voice and the words were as clear and crisp as though she had just spoken. "Sokka only calls, and Dad lives far away. My friends are busy. I just wish-"

He blinked.

Toph was snapping her fingers in his face. "Hello? Hey, hey, tea boy ."

He closed his eyes against the image of Katara's displeasure, and Toph's raised eyebrows. He felt a headache coming on. "What… what do you do when someone is unhappy and it's your fault?"

One beat.

Two beats.

Toph's eyes narrowed shrewdly, eyebrows looking dangerously close to raising clear off her face. "What the hell is that even supposed to mean?"

"Sorry. Nevermind." His voice rasped just a bit, the helpless note wisping out into the buzzing tea shop. He rubbed a tight circle into his forehead.

She leaned in toward him, eyes falling out of focus as she appeared to study his elbow. As she opened her mouth, she paused. There was a small glint of hesitation in her green eyes. She seemed to think over what she wanted to say and instead went with, "You can't just throw me something like that and then deflect. Answer or I'll take my business elsewhere son."

He waved her away, "You don't want to be late for work."

She raised that left eyebrow and her gaze slid back up to eye level. "I do what I want."

He actually laughed at that.

Relief flashed across her face and she smirked back at him. "That's the spirit." She leaned over the counter top and cracked her fist into his shoulder. He winced.

"I'll tell you about all the other things that are wrong later, okay? You seem… preoccupied. Tell your uncle I miss him, yeah?" Toph winked as she turned away, her steaming paper cup of tea clutched in hand. The telltale clacking of her cane followed her out of the shop.

The rest of his work day was as uneventful as the walk to work, calm almost. Almost. There still were the unvoiced worries skating through his head.

Flicking the light switch on, Zuko entered the kitchen with the bag of pastries swinging by his side. He stopped by the counter setting them down. Plastic rustled against the firm laminate. The kitchen was clean and dishes sat propped in the dish drain. Where…? He looked around trying to spot what was different. "Kat, did you eat already?"

"Hm?"

"Did you eat?"

He pulled the half carton of creamer from the extra plastic bag.

"Yes." She paused, her pen scratching against paper. "You'll have to make something yourself."

He shifted, scraping one ankle with his other tennis shoe.

She was silent but the sounds of her pen continued.

Katara had eaten without him. Katara knew that he liked for them to eat togeth- He turned to look at her but stopped mid-thought.

She was hunched at the table with her knees tucked up against the table's edge. Her mouth was set in a firm line. Her work laptop was set up next to a mug and a water bottle. Pages covered the keys and several folders were strewn across the table. She continued to scratch away at her document. He continued to watch her.

In the space between them was silence. It wasn't forced. It wasn't uncomfortable. But that was only because she wasn't paying any attention to him. In the slope of her back and the look of pure concentration on her face, Zuko saw something he hadn't seen in a very long time.

Resting against her jaw was the pen, and she held a page between the fingers of one hand. With her back turned to him, and her focus on her work, she almost seemed carefree. More than that, she seemed…

He didn't remember moving.

He was leaning over her chair, staring unfocused at the sheets of paper scrawled over with scribbles and numbers that numbed his brain. Her scent was overpoweringly real. That moonlight mint filled his brain with the soft pattering of rain. Her open mouth was an O of surprise. And then she frowned up at him.

"Zuko?"

He swayed.

"Zuko?" She twisted in her seat to place steadying hands on his hips. The calm of before was gone. Her hands on his sides were tense.

"I miss you." It was so quiet a whisper that she leaned up to catch his voice.

In a gentle movement, he leaned down to press his mouth to hers.

She didn't protest but she did suck in a little startled gasp. Her breath was cold on his mouth. He wrapped an arm down around her middle, trying for an angle that was comfortable. The sharp wood of the chair dug into his elbow. The raggedy cloth of her t-shirt pressed into his forearm.

She hummed a sound of almost protest, her mouth curving up into a hesitant frown against his. But with each gentle press of his mouth, she softened. Soft lips. Her soft mouth joined his in a soft kiss back. Her hands that had only moved to steady him now curved to hold his hips.

The little pinpricks of heat from her fingers on his waist were too much. He couldn't help himself. He whispered into her lips, "I miss you so much."

Without warning, she pulled away from him. Severe displeasure twisted her lips into a scowl. She had a look in her eyes. The look . That look.

His gaze slid away, down to the place where their bodies touched. His arm against her ribs looked alien.

Stiffening in his arms, she pulled him closer by the untucked edge of his shirt. "Zuko-" Even the pitch of her voice held the warnings of confrontation. She tugged on his shirt again but as she opened her mouth to speak, he stopped her.

He gave her a peck on the corner of her mouth. Then, he untangled himself from the embrace. Before she had time to speak he steered himself for the bedroom. As he shut the door it tacked gently behind him.

Zuko took his time undressing. He could still feel the heat of her glare on his neck. And, the heat of her hands on his waist. He changed from his tea shop uniform hanging it back up for the next morning. Pulling his sweats and a long sleeve from the hamper, he made his way to the small bathroom.

His shower was quick but organized. He rinsed his body off and shampooed his hair with that 2-in-1 stuff. Fingers digging into his scalp, scrubbing and sudsing his dark hair. Then he let the heated water stream down his face as he tipped his head back under the fall. Suds and spray washed down his body and into the drain. He blinked water from his eyelashes. His eyes stung but it wasn't from soap.

When he was done, he stepped out and grabbed the first dry thing he could reach.

Water dripped down his nose as he ruffled hair down into his eyes and against the pale towel.

Finally he dressed in his sweats. Slicking his hair straight back, Zuko exited the small bathroom. As he moved through the room holding the limp towel, he combed through his wet bangs. He flipped them back out of his eyes and as he was slicking his hair back, his hand brushed over the rough patch of his cheek. He paused. His fingers crawled over the ragged flame-colored scar. Memory of raw pain flashed in his mind's eye, bright and hot.

Accident.

"Accident." He murmured.

The pain wasn't real.

He had to often remind himself of that.

He dropped to the bed with the damp towel still clutched in his hands. Just in the forefront of his mind he could see a face. The face was familiar and it would have looked almost identical to his own without the age lines. He squeezed his eyes further shut, gripping his fists by his sides, gritting his teeth in his skull. The tighter he shut his eyes, the clearer and brighter the man's face grew. A square jaw and a neat goatee framed the face. Two striking golden eyes stared him down.

The face was speaking to him. This time the words weren't disapproving, but sneering. They didn't scold about his education or about sacrifices made on his behalf. The words were aimed at his most vulnerable spot.

"If his mother hadn't left him, maybe he would have learned to hold his tongue. You can't expect anything better from children who won't obey."

Pain seared hot and phantom along the side of his face. The memory of emergency room sounds played on max volume in his ears. Concerned voices were all drowned out by the single look on his father's face. That look said, "You deserved this."

"Zuko?" His wife's voice slipped through the blur of memory pain.

"What?" A little too softly. He raised his voice so she could hear him. "What?"

"You can't hide all night-" The door banged open and he heard her stomping footsteps stop in the doorway. "Zuko?" Concern pitched high in her voice. She never sounded concerned. Not anymore. Only when she saw him holding his face.

He still clutched at his temples, fingers of his right hand splayed over his scar. She moved to him and he felt her arms wrap around his shoulders. He opened his eyes to see her chin tilted down to meet his gaze. Her fingers came to rest against his forehead, her thumb brushing the scarred flesh of his temple. His hands fell away to his sides. He blinked up at her, lids fluttering, phantom pain blurring the point where memory met reality.

"Do you need some ice?"

He shook his head.

Her fingers massaged the undamaged skin of his chin. He leaned into her hand. A single teardrop splashed onto her index finger.

He couldn't help himself, he wound his hands up into her hair. His fingers skated across her scalp. She let out an involuntary breath that ended in a sigh.

Her curls were smooth. Long. Soft. Round and round his finger he wrapped a curl. She didn't seem to notice, didn't seem to mind. His finger wound her hair over and over his fingers, drawing her face down to his.

Face to face, eyes looking down into his eyes, chin to nose, they sat. Still. Silent.

He breathed in deeply, out deeply.

He pressed his mouth up into hers. Warmth bloomed from the tips of his fingers where they rested against her jaw. She leaned into his touch, lips parting in a quiet sigh. He pressed a firmer kiss into her opened lips. She pressed back, closing her eyes, breath hitching and quickening.

He wanted so badly to tell her how he loved her.

The fingers of his free hand twined with hers. The touch of her skin was familiar. Yet new. She had not touched him like this in so long. So, so long.

He pulled her down onto the bed beside him. Another kiss. This one stronger. Another sweep of her curls down her back. Another kiss, and another. She latched onto his neck with both arms and pulled him down on top of her. Everything was heat and desire. And the feel of her body under his, and the pain throbbing in his head, and the warmth of her touch loosened the fragile lock on his heart.

"Kat, I love you-" The despair in his voice was apparent even to him.

They both paused. Eye to eye staring at each other. The breaths between them were quick and heavy.

She pushed him away, "I'm still angry." sitting up.

"I love you." It was a whisper.

"I'm still angry!" Her voice rose in pitch and tone. "You can't ignore this, Zuko! It's not going away. How I feel," she grit her teeth, a glare flashing in her dark eyes, "is not going away!"

He reached for her hand and took it in both of his. Her face was flushed deeply. Her hair was a mess of a ponytail.

She stood up, arms crossing over her chest. Without meeting his eyes, she dropped his hand, pushing it roughly to him. She turned away.

Her back to him, stiff and body rigid, "I'm not going to pretend anymore." she said. Storming from the room, she slammed the bedroom door behind her.

Zuko slumped in his seat, knees knocking together and hands finding his face. Droplets of water clung to his neck. He shivered. The scrubbing motion was all he had right then. And yet… and yet her lips. The ghost pressure of her mouth against his was like a whisper. An unspoken question. He didn't know what the question was.

Her mouth had been more than warm. He didn't dare scrub at his mouth, he didn't dare to remove the sensation. Even just the memory. Slumping backward onto the bed, he let his arms fall to the crumpled covers. There had been a time when she would initiate touch.

Why had it stopped?

There had been a time when they were more than gentle, more than hesitant. There used to be passion in her body like tonight. Now she was cold.

It wasn't just in the way she touched, it wasn't just the way she held him either.

He felt the irritation in her gaze.

She would purse her mouth and cross her arms and throw out a hip. She would glare or snap or ignore. Katara would meet him with ice.

Morning came even quicker than the night before. She had chosen to sleep out in the nook by the front door that had an armchair wedged into it.

Katara dressed quickly, made breakfast quickly, ate quickly, and left. She did not spare a thought for Zuko or his breakfast. He was a grown man and was capable of feeding himself.

Her heels clacked off of the grey concrete of the city sidewalks. The clacking echoed off the grey walls of passing buildings and bounced back to her with each clack. Thump-thump-sway-thump. Sway-sway-thump. Thump-sway-thump. Her briefcase bounced against her hip, her dress pants sashayed with each step.

In a hurry?

Yes, she was.

Her neck was sore from sleeping half sitting up.

Work that morning was not fun.

She actually succeeded in ignoring Suki and paid no mind to Mark's nagging. She might have called it a productive morning- the most productive in a month- but she was too busy fuming. Zuko's pitiful frown was fresh in her mind.

"I love you."

It echoed and echoed. In her mind those small breathy words played on repeat.

"I love you."

Her own harsh retort was just as clear. "You can't ignore this, Zuko! It's not going away."

"Don't you get it?" Her mumble was a bit too violent.

She didn't catch the look Suki and the passing Iris shared. Was it more knowing, or 'what's her problem?' ? Katara couldn't have answered, because she didn't even see it.

The only thing that worked to calm her racing pulse and flaming cheeks was a memory. That memory. The memory of rain and wet kisses. Jet. Had that memory started all of this? Remembering childish infatuation and first kisses was not the sort of thing that turned your world upside down.

It had only brought up to the surface what had already been sitting between them.

Katara wasn't aware of just how much she was muttering to herself.

Behind her Suki raised her eyebrows at her monitor but went back to typing.

Jet was kissing her again. His fingers were running up and down her spine, rain dripping down her nose. Without her realizing it, the rain turned to water droplets sliding down her wrists and the smell of freshly washed hair. And the kiss was warm and familiar. There was no sky in her mind but a dimly lit room.

The morning passed. It passed as quickly as she could bare it to.

She marched from her desk to the elevators, and from the elevators to the lobby, and from the lobby to the street. She marched down the streets to her favorite coffee place.

She stepped in the swinging glass door and was greeted with the cheerful chime of a bell. There was a long line of people with the lunch rush so she got into line. Muted greys and hipstery baiges covered the walls with dark blue accents here and there. Katara tapped her feet as she waited in line. She already knew what she was going to get herself.

An iced coffee with room for extra cream.

The coffee shop wasn't anything special. The coffee wasn't even that good either. In all honesty, she liked this particular shop for the sandwiches and cute little desserts. It didn't have the local charm of the tea shop Zuko worked in, nor the-

"Katara?"

Her name had been spoken was with such clarity and hope. There was no way someone had mixed her up with a different person, or that she had heard her name by accident. It was unmistakably aimed at her.

She knew that voice.

She knew that voice too well.

The voice was excited, but unsure. It swelled like a song in her chest. A forgotten song that she had suddenly remembered with uncanny clarity. Although it sounded just a bit different than it had the last time she had heard it, just enough of the voice remained the same for her to know it. It sounded just as it should to her ears. The man's voice had a cool but silky quality and- it could only belong to one man.

She began to turn in almost slow motion, horror draining the blood from her face.

Rain.

Rain was trickling down her chill skin and her mouth burned.

Her mouth burned and goosebumps crawled up her back, over her shoulders, down her arms. She didn't dare move. And yet she couldn't help herself.

Katara turned.

And she froze.

A/N: ya'll miss me? thanks to wooperdooper for commenting and asking if I was gonna continue! that was back in december (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) buuuuuuut thanks to them I got the motivation to struggle through with this chapter.

thank you for reading you lovely person you 😘💕 please get good sleep and drink lots of water today.

follow my writing tumblr for sporadic updates and maybe some art stuff: skysthatcouldhavebeen