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Rekindling

Chapter 3

A tiny ship, adrift in the silent evening calm, carries a traveler, wounded all over, and has become his cradle.
His sad, sleeping face betrays that he won't let anyone approach him anymore.
Not knowing where he is now, he heads directly northward, northward.
Your hands, though they should be held, are empty, as though from the very beginning, you were never capable of ''being loved''.
Always lost, no longer even able to go back home, only shouting, ''Save me!'' - though sadly, nobody hears.
''I'm all alone...''
I won't let you say things like that anymore.

(Polaris, Aimer)

It's funny how a person could literally transform—maybe deteriorate was a more apt term—in just a matter of hours. Zuko felt his frown deepen considerably with every sigh that escaped his colleague's mouth as she buried her hand into her hair in wordless frustration.

Exactly seven hours ago, Yane had greeted him with a bright smile as she had just finished making an inventory of their remaining supplies. He had nodded in approval and had turned the sign door from 'closed' to 'open'.

It was a busy day of Wednesday, and that usually meant less customers to badger them. He still had yet to figure out why Wednesday was the day when the shop was least frequented, but he was grateful because then, all he'd have to do was sit around and lumber around while reading some old Chinese novel or playing another game from his mobile. Which was why Yane was currently seated in one of the empty tables, books, notes, pens and highlighters arranged in front of her as she diligently read through them with a concentration that could bend spoons.

But that was a few hours ago.

She's deflated to soulless human carcass, her skin somewhat gray. The barista had no idea whether he was just imagining it, but he was sure the woman had looked strangely like one of those shuffling undead in a zombie apocalypse movie. He's heard that taking up medicine was difficult, but he didn't fully understand the meaning of that until he saw the life-sucking phenomenon that's happening in front of his eyes right now.

Rolling his eyes, Zuko went behind the bar and came back with a glass in his hands. He stood in front of her, who upon noticing him, raised her bloodshot eyes and flashed him a watery smile.

He actually found himself wincing with how awful she looked.

"That for me?" she pointed at the beverage.

"You could use some refreshments," he eyed the two empty bottles of milk coffee meaningfully and scowled at her. "Don't you know that too much caffeine can kill you? You're a doctor."

"I'm still alive, right?" she joked but shrank under his glare. "What is that by the way?"

"Dragonfruit and mango. It looks weird, I know, but I tried this before and it's decent."

"It doesn't look weird," she commented, dark eyes trained on the said drink. "It's pretty."

Zuko spared the half-red, half-yellow drink a glance, before giving her a one shoulder shrug and placing the glass beside her. He grabbed the two empty bottles and prepared to chuck them to the nearest trash can when she made a noise.

"Mmmm, this is amazing, Lee! I mean, did you just invent this? Mix two unlikely fruits together and—"

"That's a common combination in my home," he cut her off, not missing the pint of disappointment that crossed her face. He smirked, "What, you think I'm that creative with drinks?"

"I thought it was special—oh, but I think this is special too, I mean, I thought—"

"Just drink it, Yane."

She blinked at his rudeness, then pouted. "Thanks."

"When's this big exam again?"

Yane sipped on the fruit shake and let out a satisfied sigh. "On friday."

"So you won't go to work, then?" he asked.

"The qualifying exam's only in the morning, but I requested for a whole day off. After that, I'll be waiting for the list of interviewees again. I really hope I get in this time." Yane folded her arms together and leaned over the table, eyes still glassy with exhaustion, directed to the window where the rays of sun seeped through.

Yane had mentioned to him that she had attempted to work in Caduceus, had failed and was now giving her second and perhaps, last try in this. Zuko wasn't exactly dubbed as a sensitive, feelings-sensing kind of guy. That was more of his uncle. Or Katara. But it didn't take a sensitive person to see how much she wanted to get in Caduceus and work there as a doctor. Yane brimmed with so much passion it was almost tiring to look at her. And maybe, she, too, felt so spent and burned out, but she grinded on her own way even when she failed miserably.

He pursed his lips into a thin line, his eyebrows knitted together.

"You'll fail many times," he said out of the sudden, unable to keep the words from tumbling out his mouth.

She lifted her head and pouted at him again. "Very inspiring."

"No, wait, I'm not done yet—"

"I know, I know," she waved her hand as though he was an annoying fly. "I'm going to fail a lot of times, but if I keep going, I'll be successful in the end. Seriously, that line's more applicable for young starters."

He summoned a glare that would've cracked glass with its intensity, but the desired effect on her failed to manifest unlike before. He was rewarded instead with what seemed like a sweet smile.

"Thanks," she finally said after seconds. The appreciative tone in her voice was unmistakable. "Means a lot to me."

"What?"

Yane morphed her face into a sour expression, almost comically like how a cartoon character would in this situation. Zuko couldn't honestly believe how the used to be reserved and shy girl, whose voice could only be heard if he strained his ear, had completely made a 180 degree turn and become the goofy, irritating, too cheerful but moody woman who drove him nuts.

It was funny, thinking about how their dynamics had changed for the last couple of months. Yane reminded him so much of both Sokka and Aang combined. Sometimes, they were too similar that he had to do a back take to check if it was still the orange-headed half-breed and not one of his friends he had missed.

Not that he'd ever admit that to their faces.

"What's with that?" she spat with a maniacal wave of her arms, gesturing at his face in a really uncultured manner. "I give you something and you thank me with that—that face?"

"There's nothing wrong with my face," he hissed. "And what's with you suddenly coming up to give me food when it's supposed to be your exam?"

"I told you my exam was in the morning. You weren't listening, were you? You weren't." Yane shook her head and plopped herself on the seat beside him.

Her gaze wandered around the store. Unconsciously, Zuko's did, too. There were only a few customers, most of which were regulars who were accustomed to their unusual interactions. One angst-y, scarred Chinese and one childish, slightly tanned half-Japanese.

Yep, your normal coffee and tea duo.

Zuko turned his attention back to her and said with borderline sarcasm, "You have this whole day off, in case you had too much in your brain that you forgot. Not to mention, Korra's going to be here in a few minutes to cover your shift."

"I didn't forget. I didn't have much to do before I go out and unwind this evening. Figured that you haven't had lunch yet."

His good eye widened at her words. He was fairly certain she was unaware of the puzzled look he was shooting her because she still had her eyes on their customers, but she read through him anyway.

"Didn't expect me to be a kind, thoughtful, beautiful young lady, did 'ya?" she said good-naturedly, a half-smirk plastered on her lips.

"Kind and thoughtful, maybe. Beautiful and young? I don't see any."

Yane pulled out one of those savage sneers of hers, upper lip curled over her teeth like an angered but helpless kitten. Raising her dirty finger, she muttered, "The nerve of you, dearest Senpai."

Zuko merely gave her finger a sidelong glance, long used to her shenanigans and occasional Japanese lingo, the scar on his face deepening his scowl in perfect ways that made him more intimidating than he'd need to be. Not that it worked on her anymore. He found that each time they got to know each other more, the audacity to mock him blatantly and ignore him were pounding off of her like a breath of fire. Yane kept her solid glare on him before finally being the one to break the stare-off, taking the tumbler instead and shoving it forcibly to his chest.

"Come on. Don't let my effort go to waste," she urged.

With feigned begrudge, Zuko walked over to the bar and sat down to open the lunch box. She loomed behind him as he twisted the cap open to reveal what was inside. Instantly, the aroma of broth and herbs came to drown his senses.

"Noodles?" he guessed at the translucent soup.

"I know the basic Chinese dishes at most. My mom cooks for us because she knows that Dad misses home. I kind of mixed up the recipes, did some variations and got help from a friend, who, well, kinda Japanized the soup."

He averted his attention from the food to Yane who was studying the unreadable expression on his face. Coming to the US, Zuko became exposed to countless acts of kindness he was only ever able to experience from his mother and uncle back in China. He'd been uncomfortable and dubious in the beginning, often misinterpreting them as means of gaining his trust in order to manipulate him or use him. Regardless of whether he wanted or not, that was just the way he was raised and wired to think.

It took a lot of getting used to and affirmation from his friends before he had finally accepted that there was truly such a thing as genuine benevolence.

Still, this somehow felt different from Toph's 'donations' and 'treats', or from Katara's own home-cooked food, or from Suki's gentle but firm chides about his 'self-destructive' tendencies.

Zuko had no idea what this was.

Maybe he was just overthinking.

Yane stared glumly at him. "It's not poisoned, if that's what you're worried about."

"You expect me to believe you?" he grumbled before grabbing a porcelain duck spoon and a pair of chopsticks by his side.

Promptly, he picked up several strands of noodles, which he noticed looked a bit like soba noodles, and shoved them into his mouth with a great show of gracelessness. Without chewing or swallowing, he scooped some of the soup and sipped noisily, but all the act of trying to annoy her dissipated from his mind the moment he tasted the broth.

There was definitely a not so subtle difference, but it was there—home.

His father's pipe smoke. His sister's blood red dresses. Mai's favorite lily perfume. Uncle's tea. Mom's special hot and sour shark fin soup.

His airway was sealed shut, but not before the tight pain slithering past into his throat to reach out and squeeze at his heart. And just as fast as he let his emotions get the better of him, they faded away into a dull, aching buzz that left an uncomfortable thrumming in his heart. He could breathe again, but not without the sharp, stabbing sensation that came with each subtle rise and fall of his chest.

"Oh my," he didn't even register the soft gasp that escaped Yane until she leaned forward to look at him in the face. "Are you—is this acting? Or—why are you—oh my gosh—"

The panic that flared in her eyes snapped him out of his momentary reverie, and Zuko was left reeling in his place as she fumbled to fish out a hanky from her pocket to dab it across his wet cheek.

Brimming with embarrassment, he jerked backwards with her second touch, hand flying towards the hanky in place of hers. He aggressively wiped off the tears that had smeared his face until his skin became raw and tender, reddened by both the friction and the stark humiliation that was currently roasting him from the inside. It didn't help that he was wearing the signature olive green shenyi as his uniform today, making him feel hotter even in the midst of the cool weather.

"Lee?" she prompted, gently, eyes completely focused on his face even though it was obvious she wanted to look at anywhere but him.

Normally, he would've instinctively snapped at her for having invoked such feelings from him and storm off. She had successfully unburied all the memories he so carefully filtered out of his mind—the best and the worst.

How a single sip of soup could do that was beyond him.

He contemplated just turning away and leaving, but not only did he know that it would hurt her, he also had that strange tug that urged him to open up, finally, to someone who seemed to have even the littlest of understanding about him. Zuko ventured a glance at her and heaved a sigh, yielding to his latter choice.

"It tasted just like home," he rasped, voice small and uncharacteristic.

Yane's tensed shoulders eased up a bit at his comment, her face softening along with her earlier rigid posture. "It's exactly the effect I wanted on you. I'm sorry if you feel like I'm being nosy, but sometimes, you have this distinct, sad look on your face. Like you were missing your family."

Zuko mulled over her words, the barely held back sentiments threatening to burn through his eyes again. He stared at the noodle soup for he didn't know how long until a defeated sigh left his mouth, his rigid front mollifying just a bit. He managed a small smile that barely reached his eyes, but he knew Yane could easily pick up the sincerity in that gesture.

"Takes one to know one, huh?" he voiced out, earning a surprised look from her. She might not have noticed it, but he, too, saw the subtlest slips of her masks when she thought no one was looking. And though those episodes didn't even last more than ten seconds, the melancholy that came afterwards was so palpable to someone who's closely acquainted to loneliness like him.

Yane huffed lowly as she shook her head, probably to ward off some memories she was trying to suppress herself. "You go finish your lunch. I'll tend to the customers."

"But you're not in uniform," he objected, pointing meaningfully at her denim dress.

"It's not like they care. Besides," she smiled mischievously, "It's not like Madame Wu's dropping by today."

He wanted to contradict her, warn her about Wu's regular, unscheduled visits in the Jasmine Dragon whenever she was bored, but he paused as she skittered away to take the orders from the newly arrived customers. Shrugging, he let her be. If Wu did come by for a visit, Yane was the one to face the music anyway.

He held back a soft chuckle, the image of her yapping on him for not giving her a warning passing in his mind.

Zuko grabbed the chopsticks, and with gentleness this time, picked up some noodles and began indulging himself with the food and the memories that came with it.

It had grated at his insides constantly ever since he's heard about it from one of the customers, and Zuko has been none but impatient for the rest of the day. The tight, constricting feeling that ran deep in his core suffocated him and denied him of adequate air. Everything else around him seemed to fade away in the background, and all that mattered to him that moment was to discredit the information he had just learned about.

And now that Yane had turned the store sign to 'closed', he finally had the time to check the news from the internet and gather up the thoughts that were currently raging like a storm inside of him.

He held his breath as the page started to load, tediously and painfully slow until the headlines flashed on the screen.

The revelation was like an invisible punch to the gut, his heart sinking so lowly he felt as if it suddenly lost the ability to pump. Not to mention, the betrayal and hurt that swelled up inside him crippled not only his limbs but also his mind. Zuko hadn't honestly expected this to happen so soon even though he knew, one way or another, it was all going to turn out like this.

Like how his sister had always told him with those sinister amber eyes flashing with unspoken scorn and smugness.

And now that the day has come, Hong Zuko, disgraced heir to the Agni Enterprises, disowned son of the proud patriarch of the most powerful family in China, officially lost his honor, his dignity, and everything else that mattered.

A sudden and strong wave of nausea surged through his innards and his hand flew immediately to his mouth, bile and whatever else acidic rising up his throat in a threatening manner. With great difficulty, he steeled himself to the restroom to retch out his lunch. His eyes stung as the stench hit his nose. He felt like screaming just for the hell of it, breaking everything else inside the room just so he could channel out the misery and self-loathing into something inanimate, but his hands stayed curled around the sink, his breathing ragged and uneven.

There was a knock in the door, followed by a voice.

"Hey," Yane called out with apprehension. "Is everything alright there? Are you sick?"

Zuko counted to ten in his mind, trusting his voice to break if he spoke as he turned on the faucet and let the sound of gushing water echo instead. He splashed some of the cool water around his mouth, then, he replied a hoarse, "I'm fine."

There was silence beyond the door, followed by soft shuffling, but he paid her no heed anymore and focused on the water that was starting to pool on the sink.

He didn't dare to look himself in the mirror. It wasn't as if he looked at his own appearance often anyway. His scar, the epitome of his bane and his dishonor—it was something everyone stared at, judged and gaped at with a myriad of emotions he could no longer tell apart from. He hadn't wanted to be reminded of that mark that he could never erase, but right now, just the prospect of even seeing his face again felt as if a new burn was going to sear off his flesh. Strip him off of what was left of him. Tear the last of his well-protected hope until it was nothing.

"Open the door, please," Yane called out again, her tone now pleading and severely troubled. "I want to help you."

'Get a grip', a disappointed and hard voice that sounded much like his father rang in his ears, and by instincts, he straightened up as if he was electrocuted. Funny how even in his most disgraced position, he could still hear the voice of the person who wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. Zuko ran a hand across his hair before he twisted the doorknob and stepped out of the restroom.

He knew he must've looked awful by the way Yane's face crumpled with a mixture of concern and wariness. She reached out to his shoulder, only to have her hand brushed off brusquely as he started darting his eyes around in search of his phone. In all his haste, he didn't remember if he left it on the table or dropped it on the floor.

"Did you eat something bad?" she pressed on, her voice distant in his mind.

Maybe he just heard wrong. Read the article wrong. By some chance or miracle, maybe the tabloids had gotten the wrong information and that the news that his father was giving Hong Account over to Azula was a complete hoax. Him being officially and legally disowned was perhaps just a petty ploy of the competitors to smear over their family name, because it's happened before. They suffered defamation more than his fingers could count, but always, his father had his ways to clear out their names and come out unscathed—even stronger than before.

"When I look at you, I wonder how you could possibly be my son. I am ashamed of having been part of such a failure as giving birth to something as worthless as you."

Yes, there was no way he'd be disowned right? After all, wasn't he sent away to the US to reflect on his treachery and foolishness as his father had dubbed it? To give him a chance to fix his mistakes and redeem himself? There was no way... no way—but that look on his father's eyes that fateful night, eyes that reflected caustic resentment that burned in ways he could never comprehend, it was as if Zuko was the filthiest lowlife in the world rather than his son.

"You are my biggest regret, Zuko."

"Stop moving around—wait, calm down, hey... Lee! Please—"

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" he bellowed, all the pent up frustration, rage and hurt all coming down like a hail from the sky.

Yane staggered backwards in her step and the fear that he hasn't seen for quite some time crystallised itself in her eyes. She stood there frozen until the phone in her hands caught his sight.

Eyes flaring madly, he quickly snatched it out of her grasp and yelled, "Stop pretending like you care or even know half of what I'm feeling! I'm so sick and tired of you coming to me, asking me if I'm okay when it doesn't even concern you!"

She recoiled further away from him like she was slapped, hard across the face, but to his surprise, she recovered all at once, a jaded look fixated on her face. "Is that what you really think of me?" her voice rose up and down a few octaves mingled with disbelief and a tinge of anger. "All fake smiles? All fake?"

He opened his mouth to retort, but she held up her hand and marched one daring step towards him.

She glanced down at his phone and continued, "And what do you call yourself? Pretending to be a tough, brooding and roughened man when you don't even go by your real name?"

His eyes widened to saucers and he swore a look of satisfaction passed by her expression.

His good eye narrowed to match his burned one. "How did you—"

"I read your phone, and made a guess," she said it like it was obvious. "Look, if you're really this person, Hong Zuko? If that's who you really are, why were you even hiding it? From your customers. From Korra, Bolin, Mako, me? Is it because of this?" Yane gestured at his phone. "Lee—Zuko, it's not something you're supposed to be ashamed of—"

"Shut up," he hissed venomously. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"So tell me! Make me understand. I want to help you," she pleaded again.

"This is none of your business, Yane."

"Please. Zuko."

He didn't know whether it was because of the already brittle barrier he had built for himself, or because it's been so long... so long since he's heard someone call him by his real name—and it strangely felt so good, like a cool drink under the scorching and unforgiving weather, like a gentle caress to his scarred, hideous face—but that undid him from the inside out. He just felt so, so, so tired. Of everything. And if he could, he knew he'd cry and finally let those suppressed tears fall from his eyes, but to both his dismay and relief, he didn't.

But Yane clearly saw the change, and she made no waste of time. She grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away from his face. He hadn't even realized he had been covering his scar with quivering hands. Reluctantly, he locked eyes with hers—fragile but strong at the same time.

"You won't get it," he whispered, uncharacteristically weak. "You don't know what it's like to be seen as an eyesore. A nuisance to a perfect family picture. To be nothing but a disappointment to your own father. I tried so hard to win his favor even if it felt wrong to do the things that pleased him. I said hurtful things to my uncle even though he was probably one of the few people who even gave a damn about me. I left my girlfrie—ex-girlfriend without even as much as a goodbye. I betrayed all my friends. I just want to go home, but I can't. Because I'm a coward. I'm unworthy. I'm an asshole. I'm—"

"Stop," she commanded him with a squeeze of her hands around his wrists. Her touch was so warm it felt almost familiar. "Stop it. You can't keep on doing this to yourself. Whatever they say, or you say, you're a good person. I know. I've been watching you. I don't even know what to say to make you feel better. Words can't really stop the bleeding."

She chuckled at her words before shaking her head and gazing back at him. The look on her face—a bruised but soft smile, maybe a little too soft and understanding that it was unnerving. He felt an odd but not unpleasant flutter in his stomach.

"All you have to know is that the people you said you tried to push away? Your friends, your lover, your uncle... They're still around. You can still make it up to them. And me... I know you said you think I'm insincere—"

He visibly winced at that, but she went on.

"But I'm here for you. It may not be much, but hey, that counts for at least something. Right?"

A ghost of a smile made itself known on his lips and she rewarded it with a wider version of her own. There were traces of what looked like tears in her eyes and that in itself was a bit weird since it had been him who poured out almost everything heavy and rotten in his heart, but when she blinked, the glassiness of her eyes were gone. His little outburst hadn't exactly fixed anything in his life, but he felt tad lighter than he's ever been since he stepped foot on this foreign country.

For once, his honor didn't feel like it mattered much.

And for once, the cold fire that sizzled in his core blazed up with yellow, red and orange cackles like the campfires he had enjoyed when he was a kid.

Yane finally released his hands and shrugged, "So, this is an appropriate time to hug, huh?" She opened her arms wide. "Come on. I know you want to."

For a millisecond, he considered it—craved for it, actually. Instead, Zuko's small grin morphed into a teasing smirk as he crossed his arms in contrast to hers.

Turning around and not paying heed to her gaping face, he threw over his shoulder, "Get back to work."

A/N: Hi! Story is progressing already. As you guys already know, OC is kind of a fresh-grad doctor, has a past, is looking for a job and landed at the Jasmine Dragon where our favorite fireboy works as a manager/waiter. I hope I built the relationship slowly but meaningfully? Would love to hear your thoughts!

As for the rest of the Gaang, we'll get to see them soon. So stay tuned and stay safe! Please review as you go! Thank you! :)

PS. I suggest you listen to the song I inserted above. Polaris sounds really good and the lyrics just fit this fic so well I'm so glad I found it.