"Do you love her?" Zuko asked.
"Yeah." Aang answered quietly.
And there it was. He silently drew in a deep breath. Wiping his palms on his pants – they'd begun to sweat even on that cool night – he stood to leave.
"I love her, Zuko," Aang said.
Zuko felt his stomach churn.
"I heard you the first time," he muttered, sulking away.
"I'm not in love with her."
"What's the difference?" Zuko spat over his shoulder. He stopped short when Aang dropped down in front of him.
"The difference," Aang began, "is that she's not the one I want to dance with. Or the one I want to be close to. She's not the one whose hand I want to hold."
The corner of Aang's mouth turned up into a teasing smirk.
"Or pour a hot cup of tea for." He continued. Zuko's expression remained hard and solemn. Aang let out a pleading sigh. He reached up to cup Zuko's cheek, now stained form a single tear traveling to his jawline. Zuko closed his eyes. The sound of his own heartbeat drowned out the waves crashing against the sand. His palms were sweating again. He wondered if they'd ever stopped. He opened his eyes again to see Aang's grey ones nearly filled to the brim. They were saying something; they were pleading with him. Zuko's stern demeanor began to melt away.
"I'm not in love with her, Zuko,"
He needed him to know. Aang rubbed his thumb across Zuko's cheek. Smoother than the stones you'd find on the shore. He floated up until their faces were centimeters apart. Warmth spread from Zuko's lips to Aang's and throughout the rest of his body. Zuko wrapped his arms around the smaller boy's waist, pulling him deeper into the kiss. He melted into the prince's arms, resting one arm around Zuko's neck, gripping his shirt with one hand and his dark hair with the other. Soon they were out of breath. Their foreheads rested on one another's.
Aang sighed Zuko's name.
Zuko straightened his head. His eyes – eyes that we once so hard, were so soft now.
"What's wrong?" Zuko asked.
Aang beamed at him for a moment, then rested his head on Zuko's chest.
"Nothing."