Author's note: Hi all! Sorry for the delay in getting this updated. Been a busy few months!
I just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone for giving my story a chance. I know in the last chapter Aang is a little more angrier and uneven tempered than he normally is in canon, but I thought it'd be interesting to stretch the idea of how far his jealousy can go! The good news is...I think that's the worst (pettiest) he'll act. The bad news is...our best friends here will be circling each other in this tension filled dance for a few more chapters. Bear with me, we're working with Tui and La here people. It won't be easy but the ending WILL be worth it. Love you all.
Please share this story with your friends and moots! I am wondering how I can get this story out to those who share my love for Modern/AU ATLA haha
CHAPTER FIVE
x-x
I want to have sex with Aang again. I need to. He's slept with me every night these last few days and it's been truly amazing. My nightmares are gone, I feel well rested for the first time in years, and his skin rubs against mine so perfectly I feel as though I'm going to burst. But I just—I need more. What I wouldn't do to feel his lips against mine again. And not the kiss he gave me when he was apologizing, but a knee-weakening, world-altering, binding wrap-drenching kiss that makes me see stars.
But the question is: how do I do it? And then it dawns on me while I am restocking my herbs at work. Alcohol? I just need to replay exactly what happened the first time we had sex. Except this time, I'm going to be taking off my clothes first. I'm not sure if Aang would want to drink again, as he limits his consumption and he only did it because he was distraught that night.
He does partake in gardening here and there…I can roll us a joint with the leaves my team collected for the hospital, they won't even notice it. Yeah, I can totally do that. I start gathering some pot, lavender twigs and rose petals and get to work.
When I tumble into the house, twenty minutes before Aang's graduate class is supposed to finish, I sprint to my room to change. I throw off my work clothes and pull-on tight tank top and pair of his boxer briefs that I wear to bed sometimes. He gave them to me years ago, before we even moved in together, after I told him I love sleeping in boxers, but Jet never wanted to give me any of his. They are covered in lemurs and bison figures. I have no idea where he got them, but they are hilarious. I figure a little bit of history will help with the whole bed thing; maybe he will think about all the things we've done before. Wait. What if he doesn't even remember giving them to me? Spirits.
I decide to keep them on anyway. I ran into the living room and then put on The Flame-o's album on the speaker in the corner. It's one of his favorite bands, and what better music to have sex to than your favorite? I also take the joint out of my work bag and set it on the coffee table.
I tidy up the place, which I totally suck at, but Aang keeps everything clean anyways, so all I must do is fluff a few pillows and tuck a few blankets under the couch. I'm unbraiding my hair—Aang loves my hair down—when the door is thrown open.
Aang stomps in and tosses his messenger bag on the ground. He's obviously pissed at something.
"Hey Aang!" I say warily, watching him with quizzical eyes. His glance moves up from the floor and lands on me, startled. He must have not noticed me standing here.
"Hey. You're wearing the boxers I gave you," he says, a small smiling moving onto his lips. The tension seems to leave his face almost immediately.
I nod my head, my chest warming. He remembers. "Are you okay?"
He walks over to where I'm standing and leans towards me. I close my eyes, ready to feel his lips against mine, but instead I feel his face snuggle into the crook of my neck. I open my eyes again; okay, this is good enough. I lift my arms and wrap them around his broad shoulders.
"Some unknown number was calling me, so I answered it," he starts.
"Because letting it go to voicemail wouldn't be polite," I finish.
"Yes. Because it wouldn't be polite. And it was On Ji. Monkey feathers, the woman called me from some random phone because she knew I would answer."
He pulls his head out of my neck and then plops himself down on the couch, exhausted. I join him, cuddling up to his side and placing a hand on his chest. He looks at me, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but continues his story.
"She told me she was still in love with me, and she wanted to try again. She said that they had only done it a few times, but when I caught her, she realized how much she wanted me. She told me she wants to marry me one day, and she can see us starting a family together."
My hand falls from his chest as dread fills mine. Oh god. If he goes back to her, it will kill me. From the day they he introduced me to her, I knew I didn't like them together. At the time I thought I was just being possessive about Aang. I internally pat myself on the back for being an awesome judge of character, given the most recent turn of events. I was in fact right about her, anyway.
"What did you say to her?" I ask, biting my lower lip.
"I told her the truth: that I don't see that anymore."
My eyes fly up from my lap and land on his face, shock lighting up my body. He doesn't? Aang must see the surprise on my face, because he nods. It's quiet for a moment and I don't even know what to say.
He looks around until he lands on the joint on the coffee table. He furrows his eyebrows but grabs the joint and the lighter we keep in the console. He lights it without a second thought. I raise my brow as well; I was expecting some push back. He inhales the smoke, tipping his head back, keeping the smoke in his lungs for a second before releasing it in a smooth, confident blow. When he finally passes it to me, I do the same. We hand the joint back and forth until our eyes are flushed, and my brain starts to feel foggy. He ashes the joint, putting it out and leans back on the couch.
"I mean, spirits, I'm still not over her," he starts again. "My chest still hurts when I think about her. But I don't want to be with her anymore—it's just not right." He looks at me, his eyes soft.
"And I'm starting to realize it wasn't just the cheating. She wasn't the one for me." I feel myself lean into him, drawn in by his words. His grey eyes darken, becoming hungrier; I watch as his tongue darts out of his mouth and runs along his bottom lip. I suddenly realize his fingers are gently caressing my bare thigh. He's being so sweet. I lift my hand and set it back on his chest, digging my nails into the firm muscles.
"Katara, I…" he trails off, his lips only a few inches from mine. Oh god. It's going to happen again. Thank the cosmic energy in the universe.
But life has a way of interrupting.
My phone rings, startling the two of us, and we fly apart. And unfortunately, it brings Aang back into reality as he shakes his head, and gets up off the couch, leaving me alone to answer it.
I lift it to my ear, irrational anger swelling inside me for the person on the other line. "What?" I growl into the phone.
"Woah, Katara. A little stressed, are we?" Haru's voice purrs.
I instantly relax. You can't be that upset when you are talking to Haru. He's too much of a flirting jokester. "You could say that." I rub my temple with my thumb and forefinger. "What's up?"
"I was wondering if you wanted to meet me at the bar, say ten-ish?" he asks, his voice a little higher than usual. "I wanted to get shitfaced, and you've seemed a little on edge the last few weeks and I figure you could use a night out."
I glance at the clock in the corner; it's barely past 6:00. I feel a little buzzed right now, but I know that by the time ten rolls around I'll be completely sober. "Sure," I say shrugging my shoulders, even though he can't see me. "Why not?"
I practically see him grin through the phone. "Awesome. The Boiling Rock sound good?"
"Sounds good."
We say our goodbyes and I flop down on the couch, palming my face. Shit. I was so close to Aang again. I can still feel the adrenaline of the moment running through my veins.
But I lost the opportunity.
And I don't think I'll ever be able to find it again.
-x-
Later, my fist hits Aang's door with three soft knocks and he calls for me to enter. As I throw open the door, I immediately feel a smile form on my face. I love his room. It's so neat and organized and painted in different shades of orange. His walls are covered in his sketches, the scenes varying from sunsets over the Patola mountains to flying Bison. Aang loves to draw, and sketches of his native land are always his go to for fun, quick practice.
But my favorite picture is the one he has above the headboard of his king size bed. It's a charcoal painting of the two of us at my mother's funeral. One of his hands is intertwined with mine while the other one is wrapped around the back of my head as he holds me to his chest, where I sob. I remember it so vividly. The numbness in my limbs vanished for one brief moment in time as he held me, and I knew that I could get better again; if my best friend helped me.
Aang is sprawled out on his bed, his legs crossed in front of him; his hand is holding a bunch of stapled packets. I assume he's reading his students' essays. His eyes lift to me momentarily before they go back to his work. "Do you need something?" he asks me in a clipped tone. What's wrong with him?
"I'm, uh, going to the bar. I just wanted to let you know," I say, nervously adjusting my power blue ruffled top.
"Thanks for the update. I'll see you later." I nod and turn around, leaving him behind. But he says one last thing before I grab the handle of his door.
"You look really beautiful, by the way."
A goofy grin lights up my face; but I don't turn around. I don't want him to see how giddy I'm getting over a simple compliment. "Thanks, Aang."
The drive to The Boiling Rock, a quaint little bar downtown, isn't too long, and I'm pulling into the parking lot five minutes before the time Haru, and I agreed upon. I find an open seat at the bar and order myself a gin and tonic from the cute bartender as I wait. I tried to dress up a bit, though it's only just a hang session with Haru; I put the cute top Aang gave me for Christmas last year and a pair of deep blue flared pants. And of course, I slipped into my worn casual shoes and traditional Water Tribe pelt belt. But now I think it's too much. The top is a little too fancy and the pants are too curvy.
However, my worrying is cut off when Haru plops into the seat next to me.
"Wow, you look gorgeous," he says with a wink. I roll my eyes. Haru and his flirting. He's dressed in a deliciously tight green v-neck that causes his eyes to glow and black jeans paired with a leather jacket. He looks way too good for a human being. I can see every woman's eyes in the bar fly to him.
"Shots?"
"Abso-fucking-loutely." I need to remove the memory of the soft pads of Aang's fingers caressing my inner thigh from my brain. Haru orders a round of tequila shots for the two of us, and shrugs out of his jacket; his toned back muscles ripple with the movement. When the alcohol is placed in front of me, I immediately toss it back—so Haru orders another round. And another.
"So why did you want to get drunk?" I ask after my skin starts to buzz, licking my lips.
"I have herpes." My eyes fly from my empty shot glass to him. Spirits, talk about TMI.
Haru lets out a soft chuckle. "No, I'm totally kidding. But my dad's been ill, and he just passed away and I…" he trails off, the humor vanishing. "I just don't want to think about it."
I nod my head. I lift my right hand and set it on his that lies on the bar, consoling him. I'm not good at it, but this is the best I can do. Affection always feels nice when you've lost someone—but it must be from the right person. And though I'm sure I'm not the right person for Haru, I'll try to be good enough.
He gives me a sad smile. "So now that my dirty laundry is out, it's time for yours."
My chest gets tight, but I just toss back another shot. "There's no dirty laundry here."
He scoffs at me, shaking his head. "That's a lie. Seriously, what's been going on these past few weeks? You seem anxious all the time, and sometimes you get this distant look on your face—like you're remembering something good."
Yeah, Aang—Nothing in my life has been as good as life with him. And not in just a dirty way. "We're here to forget about our problems, right?" I ask, quirking up my eyebrow.
He nods in response. "Well, I want to forget. For just one night, I want to forget about him."
"Him?" Haru inquires, shifting his body towards me.
I think about not telling him, and just ignoring him entirely, but he did divulge information to me that he didn't have to. So, I'll give him a little. "Yeah; I want to forget about him."
Haru doesn't press me for any more information—he just orders another round. After the next drink, the somber tension leaves immediately. Haru talks animatedly, his hands flying back and forth in front of his body as he tells me stories about the hilarious antics, he's gotten into with his friend Toph. The woman sounds crazy, but highly hilarious. This is one of the few times we've hung out outside of work, and I have no clue why we haven't earlier. He's great—kind, funny, charming—and just fun to be around.
But the more and more I drink, it seems like the less I'm able to focus on Haru, and my thoughts begin to travel to Aang. I keep on seeing his dashing steel eyes instead of Haru's green ones; or his strong, lean jaw instead of Haru's rounded one. The last time I got intoxicated like this, was the night we were together, and I find myself eager to go home to him and apologize for making him feel uncomfortable earlier.
When it's finally last call, I stumble out of my chair and make my way towards the door, Haru following me dutifully.
"You're getting a cab, right?" he asks when step outside onto the thin sidewalk.
"Yeah, of course." I turn and look up at him. He's taller than me. "Tonight was fun."
He grins, nodding his head. Then he lifts one of his hands and places it on my cheek and slowly bends down to give me a small kiss on my numb lips. It's short and soft, but there's something behind it—something more than just drunk sexual tension. He pulls away and stands up straight again, his grin returning.
"I hope you forget about your 'him,' Katara," he says, and then walks off, down the sidewalk, giving me a small wave goodbye.
When the yellow cab rolls up in front of my little house, I decide to turn off my ever-working mind. As soon as the door is locked behind me, I begin to tear off my constricting clothes, making my way towards my best friend's bedroom. I creak open his door and Aang, being a light sleeper, immediately wakes up.
"Katara?" he asks groggily, rubbing his eyes. Without responding, I climb onto his bed, crawling towards him. I slip under his covers and snuggle up to him; he watches me with curious, sleepy eyes. I move my eyes away from his and let my right hand run up his sculpted torso, ignoring the fear in the back of my mind that he doesn't want me to.
"I'm sorry, Aang," I whisper, my fingers dancing across his firm pecs. "I don't know why you're mad at me, but I'm sorry. I hate it when we fight." I continue to stare at the movement of his chest as it rises and falls with his shallow breaths. I watch as goose bumps form along his clavicle and I refrain from leaning forward and sucking on his delicious, pale skin.
Aang takes a shaky breath. "I just don't want us to be a mistake," he whispers, his hot breath skimming my forehead. I furrow my eyebrows.
What exactly is he saying?
"Katara, if we did this…" he trails off. His hand is traveling up my back, his touch light but determined.
Suddenly, the world turns, and not in a good way; my stomach churns, the alcohol eager to make its reappearance. I bolt out of bed and sprint to the bathroom, using the connecting door Aang has in his room. I barely make it to the toilet before the tequila comes back up, burning my throat along the way.
Aang's beside me in matter of seconds, pulling my hair back from my face. His voice is soft and reassuring in my ear as the hand not holding my hair runs up and down my left arm; my face is resting on the porcelain. I knew I was drunk, but I didn't think I was that drunk.
I stay there, kneeling on the bathroom floor, for at least fifteen minutes, waiting for my stomach to settle, before I think I'm ready to go back to bed. I rinse out my mouth with water from a cup that Aang hands me, spit the water into the bowl and flush it. I start to sit up, ready to go to my room when Aang's arms are wrapped around me. He lifts me up off the ground and carries back to his room with practiced hands; he lays me down on his soft yellow sheets, then moves the trashcan from the corner and places it on the floor next to where I'm resting.
He crawls back into his bed on the other side, but he doesn't cuddle with me like he normally does. He just turns his back to me and buries his face into his pillow.
I rack my brain, hoping I didn't make a mistake by touching him. But I don't think I did. So why is he distant now?