this is short, again. we have finals this week & next :( my broken heart.

yes, this is tokka & kataang. but there are a lot of things that will get in the way before that happens. lots of drama. this is long; get ready

He wasn't sure if this was the right address. The number Sokka had given him – 1473 East Eighth – led Aang straight to a small pharmacy on the corner of two main streets. Where was Rough Rhino's? More importantly, where was Sokka?

The older boy had called him half an hour ago asking him to come out tonight. Aang was hesitant at first – Gyatso had warned him about the evils of the big city, specifically drinking. "You won't be yourself," his adoptive father had warned. "Imagine your worst self – every base impulse, every thought that isn't thought through. This is the person you become when you drink." Aang had kept his word when he promised Gyatso he wouldn't try it.

And he had tried explaining this much to Sokka, too, but the boy was unresponsive. "You aren't in the monasteries anymore!" Sokka bellowed over the phone. Aang guessed then that Sokka wasn't exactly sober. "Aang, listen to me. You're at Four Nations. Are you seriously going to let some backwards old-world knowledge ruin your two years here? You're new! Come make friends! Come meet girls!"

But the only girl Aang wanted was the blue-eyed and evasive Katara. He considered the possibility that she could be at Rough Rhino's tonight, although it didn't seem to be her cup of tea. Still, the possibility enticed him.

"I can go to pick you up," Aang offered lamely. "I'm probably a real light weight and I don't want to take chances. We have qualifying exams tomorrow."

"Don't remind me," Sokka moaned. "Why do you think Suki isn't with me? Just join us already. We're having a good time. Don't be late. Here's the address."

Aang called Sokka back now, staring blankly at the pharmacy storefront. Sokka's phone rang as Aang kicked a pebble between his feet. He tensed his shoulders, a chill making its way around his exposed neck. "Should've brought a sweater," he said to himself.

When Sokka didn't answer – and after Aang had tried his number three times – he gave up. What was left to do now? He couldn't find the club and he was freezing. He zipped up his jacket and walked under the pharmacy's canopy. It was snowing now, the flakes soft and flat, bright against the backdrop of the evening. Aang sighed and shivered when he saw his breath. He closed his eyes. He could hear music, muffled and distant, but he couldn't tell where it was coming from.

A minute later, he watched as a bright red car pulled up next to the corner's curb. He realized that he probably wasn't visible under the canopy. A girl kicked open the front door and stepped out, her legs pale and thin. She held a blue flame in her palm that made her face seem even paler. She walked to the trunk of the car, wobbling just a little, and opened it up, reaching for a large gold and silver box.

His nature got the best of him. "Hey," Aang called out. "Do you need any help with – "

Before he could finish, she had snapped her head in his direction, her orange eyes glowing bright in the darkness. The blue flame quickly turned into a sharp string of lightening. Aang pushed himself out of the way with a blast of air directed at the storefront behind him. In his spot, she had crumbled and charred the sidewalk, leaving behind a spiny trail of smoke.

"What's wrong with you?" he yelled crossly, picking himself up from the ground. He readied a fighting stance. "I just wanted to know if you needed help with your package."

She put her arms down, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She looked at her nails. "You startled me. Creeping around in the shadows like a common thief. You're lucky I'm in a good mood. I would have had you arrested any other day." She reached into the trunk of her car and took out the box, which was – to Aang's delight – much lighter than it looked.

"Arrested for what?" He dropped his arms too, but – finding it was far too cold to act cool or aloof – decided against it and wrapped his fingers around his shoulders.

"Anything. I don't know." She paused and looked at him again. "Are you going to stand there with your mouth open or help me take this upstairs like you so graciously offered?" Her brows were lifted and her tone was sarcastic but clear. She threw the box at him before he could answer. Aang caught it in midair and almost considered throwing it back. So far, his experience at Four Nations had been a positive one, despite being the 'new kid' well into his undergraduate experience. But this girl. Her mannerisms and monotone, as well as her cold, metallic beauty… all of it inspired fear.

She walked ahead of him, her heels clacking lightly against the sidewalk like a metronome. "Let's go," she called over her shoulder. She clicked a remote on her keys and her car beeped and flashed. He followed her up to Rough Rhino's without questions, wondering who the package was for. She had written in blue ink, "To Zuzu – with something akin to love. Don't blow the interview." There was some lipstick next to the tag where she had painted her thin lips in red and kissed.

This smell was unfamiliar to him – lilac and faint vanilla – but before he registered the smell, he registered her hair. Long and silky, it tickled the edge of his nose and the stubble on his chin like a spider's web. This is what woke him up at first. When he breathed in and smelled her, when he registered the extra weight on his mattress, the slight snores and clucks that she released in deep sleep, he thought to himself with a start, "Oh, no."

He lifted his comforter and rolled out of bed gently, his bare toes carrying him to the bathroom. He closed the door and turned the faucet on, splashing cold water on his face with both hands. In the mirror, his blue eyes deceived him – he looked well-rested and happy, the bags from the night before now totally erased, a light blush over his tan, taut skin that gave him a youthful glow. But he felt a pang deep in his stomach and it resonated to his throat. He didn't feel hung over but his head was throbbing; he pinched his temples with his forefingers and thumbs. He looked at himself in the mirror again and frowned.

"Stupid," he whispered to himself, pounding his left fist on the cusp of the sink. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

What now? There was a strange girl in his bed. He didn't remember bringing her home. Attentively, he peeked his head out the door and observed her. Her hair covered her face and the comforter covered her body. The only clues were unwelcome ones – a bright tutu on the floor near a set of high boots, one flipped over in haste. A black lace bra. Panties striped gray, pink and red. A colorful night, certainly. One for the books. Sokka slapped his head and pulled his hand down to his chin. He bit his fingers.

He wasn't expecting her to wake until he had thought of an escape plan. Such luck! His drunken alter ego obviously showcased a generosity that he couldn't afford. He couldn't leave his own room and he didn't know why he hadn't followed her to hers. As he bit his nails at the door, the girl stirred, reaching a thin arm over her head and stretching, a full-mouthed yawn at her lips. She sat up and stretched some more, moving her hands through her hair and tying it up in the back with a scrunchie she kept on her wrist. Sokka felt ill at the notion that this was her only clothing this morning. But the universe proved him wrong again; when she stood up and stretched (very impressively, at that) he noticed that she was wearing his jersey. She bent down to the floor, her backside to him, and reached her ankles. She put a leg over her head and bent to the ground. Sokka, though disgusted with himself, couldn't help it. He felt an erection swell up behind his boxers and, panicking, slammed the door.