Undisclosed Make Up
His name was light like his element; it was only one syllable that could easily ring true and carry through the wind.
There weren't any heavy letters or pronunciation holding even his name down; the brush strokes to make his name didn't hold down the tongue or furrow a brow. He wasn't named after anyone to continue a legacy; there wasn't even any real meaning to his name. There was something about his name, though. It's uniqueness was how it held nothing (a fact that was often left unseen).
The boy didn't mind at not being able to talk much about his name; it was concise and clean. It made people and friends remember it easily, if his cheery and optimistic personality didn't do the trick.
Or, this was all true until he got a new title that the entire world, not just the air, would call out.
Avatar.
It was too heavy, too controlled and used before. It wasn't his name; it wasn't who he was. It was something hundreds of heros, and unnamed thousands, of others had held and been addressed as. It was an identity that was so mixed it had lost its meaning to the individuals.
Katara was someone who fundamentally understood this; her name was like his new title.
It was heavy and it took time to remember and get accustomed to; it wasn't so simple that it could be breathed out in a moment. Hers was the type of name that was sobbed out; the last syllable would allow for some anger to seep through while the first syllable could easily break glass if said with a snap.
His name wasn't heavy enough to hold anything - nothing held it down. Hers was buried in ice and snow and tradition of 'k's and ending 'a' names.
The savior of the world tries to tell others his real name; his companion tries to forget what hers is.
He thinks his new title is a curse while her name is exactly that definition.
They both wonder when they'll escape titles and finally hear themselves.