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Same scowl. No top knot in his hair, emphasising his betrayal and decline of status. His face glares back at him in the wanted posters hanging throughout the Fire Nation.It's you, a voice resounds in his mind; it sounds a lot like Azula's snickers. I recognise the stains of your dishonour. Don't you, Zuzu?He does. Of course, he does. Zuko has scrutinised them in the mirror for years, haunted by his scarred visage. The first time he saw his burn scar was in front of the mirror, his trusty knife in hand as he winced, trying not to cry while his hair fell limp in his hold.It was then, without the bandages and without his top knot, that he finally understood the gravity of the damage. In his thirteen-year-old heart, there had been a spark of hope. He thought the burn wouldn't be too bad because he could feel pain, which meant his nerves hadn't been destroyed.A spark of hope that his father had merely wanted to scare him, had succeeded in doing so but hadn't truly gone beyond what a parent would do to their child. A fool's hope.It was then that the order to forfeit his top knot, as a sign of penance, came. In front of the court, his humiliation freshly pressed on his face and his hands trembling, he kneeled once again at his father's feet.Zuko remembers thinking of Agni's bright glare upon him, declaring him unworthy of being Agni's child. He had thought of his ancestors and what they would make of his dishonour. And he had considered his father magnanimous in giving him a chance to recover what had been lost— "Lee!"He hums as if he hasn't stopped in the middle of the street during their morning shopping to stare at his wanted poster."Lee," Katara says again, but it's her gentle hand on his shoulder that shakes him back into the present, mind away from the messy lines of the drawing. "Is everything… are you all right?"His eyes stay just a little longer on the features of his face until, without thinking, his hand snatches the poster from the wall. After only a second of doubt, he folds it into his trousers pocket. "Yes, sorry, I…"She steps forward, blue eyes wandering on his face, prying beyond his fringe. She smiles up at him. "We should take one for Sokka too, what do you think? Perhaps he'll learn what good shading is.""And how to draw symmetrical eyes""And what about the rest? Symmetrical eyes won't help if the rest is an abomination," she laughs and Zuko senses himself softening. All of him. His shoulders relax, his chest expands freely and for a moment, there is no Sozin's Comet at the end of the countdown. No war. Only the sound of her laugh in his ears and the way Katara's head falls on his shoulder as she tries to contain herself.He wants to know what the locals see in this scene between the two of them. If they are smirking happily to see a young couple, if they're reminded of their own youth. What if they are asking themselves what Lee had said that was so funny?But there is no young couple, only young rebels, and his pocket is heavy.Katara waits for him to walk away from the wall, though he then slows to match her pace."I hope Aang won't be kidnapped for another school trip this time around," Katara sighs quietly, more to herself than to him, looking around the market of Ember Island.It's animated. Prices are shouted left and right, each stall in a competition for customers. Here that's the only war there is.Zuko cannot believe it, or he should. He was here not long ago with Azula, Mai and Ty Lee but at the time, he was too angry to notice how Ember Island was detached from reality. If Zuko could push away the reason why they are here, he can almost imagine they're on vacation. A friend's outing on one of the most beautiful beaches of his nation, with festivals to visit and fireworks to admire. A beautiful dream… it could become reality if they win and maybe, in that reality, he'd have the courage to take Katara's hand in his during their walks through the market.He glances down, watching her hand swing delicately. "Aang in school?"For a brief moment, his knuckles brush hers; to punish himself, he stuffs his hand in time-out in his pocket. It meets the folded paper and his mood sours.Pulling his hood sufficiently over his eye and lowering his head to use his long hair to his advantage, he follows Katara, guarding her back from any possible problem as she talks. "Yes, luckily we were discovered only after the dance party. I couldn't have run with that fake pregnant belly."And nothing else. As if it is more an afterthought than an explanation; as if Zuko was there and doesn't need any more information. He should feel warm… and honoured that she doesn't acknowledge he wasn't on their side for the majority of the journey, and he is, but what school? What dance party? And mostly, what fake pregnant belly?!However, Katara is already bargaining with an old lady over the price of cabbages. She has moved on.The conversation stays light. She restrains herself from asking what got into him with the posters, even though Zuko is certain she wants to know. He sees it from the curious looks she sends him once or twice. They sneak back into his family's summer house to meet the others, their market adventure complete.He helps around, never forgetting the weight in his pocket. It makes him think of bad things, like doubting Aang. The nomad's indecision on what to do with Ozai is a delicate topic in the house. Under the clear sky, everyone has their opinions.The sunlight remains longer in the summer, carrying with it the desire for the sea, the beach, relaxing by sunbathing, and generally taking it easy. It causes Aang to slack on his training. Zuko can't permit it.Fire Lord Ozai had no compassion to give his son. He will eat, chew, and spit Aang out in seconds if the kid is lucky enough to survive the rapid and fatal lighting directed to his face. Faster than Azula. Faster than Uncle. And with only a glimpse of the sun out… how much worse will it be during the Sozin's Comet?Zuko has experienced first-hand… well, everything. Fire and lighting. No mercy.Watching Aang build a sandcastle with Sokka and Suki, jumping around in his beachwear as any kid should do, Zuko can picture how still Aang's body will be after his father doesn't show clemency. Aang, who is always flying and dancing around, will not glide in the air anymore. What about after? Zuko and his friends? The world?Nothing if not the reds and oranges of the fire and the smell of burnt— his fingers grace paper in his pocket. He doesn't want to smell burnt flesh ever again.No. Aang will succeed, balance will be restored, and Zuko will have done some good in his sorry life. Not wanting to spoil their late morning with anger and fear, he smiles and turns down Toph's invitation to join their competition, retreating inside instead."The clothes have been laid out," he announces his entrance, approaching the stove and adding two small logs to the fire. The flames react to his hand, licking his fingers and ready to be controlled."Thank you," and a smile shines on her face, the same one of that morning if not more brilliant."No fireflakes?" He asks instead of whatever is in his chest. The words stuck in his throat by the fear of letting them free. "Where is the flavour then?"She snorts, rolling her eyes and for a moment, Zuko erases the group’s existence just outside of the house. It’s only him and Katara, her hip shoving his body away from the pot so she can add two more pinches of salt to spite Zuko, who sighs, annoyed. Or really, faking a sigh so she will never know his true feelings.He is slipping more and more into his daydreams. They have changed a lot.He dreamt of capturing the Avatar and returning home as a hero with honour and his father’s love; daydreaming of a tea shop and quiet life, anonymity among refugees away from any difficult choice Zuko had to make, there was simply Lee of the Jasmine Tea Shop there. Now, while their adventure is sailing into the unknown future, Zuko pictures stopping time. Remaining in the calm before the storm, where Katara wears Fire Nation’s red, they shop together and Zuko admires her stubbornness in bargaining prices. Or she swims in the waters of Ember Island after a good spar, calling him to join her.Simple moments. A life that could be, if only. Where they cook together and Katara demands his opinion on the soup, as she is doing now— “… and tell me I’m wrong,” she says.It’s all confidence and a glint of humour, holding the spoon at the level of his mouth and if Zuko was braver, he’d taste the soup while never averting the gaze from her blue eyes. Just to see her reaction, if she would blush at his bluntness.“Don’t need to try it to know you are”But that is a dream he is not living in. He looks away when his lips part and drinks the sip she’s offering him. It’s better his eyes are not in hers because, in his dream, Zuko is smoother and wouldn’t start coughing terrified to lose a lung.The salt dries his tongue even if the soup should be liquid, which means ‘wet’.The smugness of her look goes away and she laughs at him. “Royalty is so delicate,” she says and slaps his back to help him around as she puts a new ingredient in the soup. “You wouldn’t survive sea-prune soup”His brain creates the image of a bowl of salt with maybe something else inside. He shivers in horror. “I don’t think my royal blood is the issue here”“Your idea of taste is burning my entire mouth!”He cannot counterattack, it’s true what she says.“How can I help, Chef?”Katara falls into the usual shocked expression whenever Zuko asks how he can be useful, or does things without being asked to. It's so familiar now that he knows it's nothing to do with him."There is no need, Zuko. Go rest with the others, you must be tired after training Aang""I would rise early to bend even without Aang to train""'You rise with the moon. I rise with the sun,' wasn't it?"Zuko does not blush. He refuses to acknowledge any warmth he feels. Whatever expression is on his face makes her chortle, her head falling back. It's different from how Azula mocks him. There is viciousness in his sister's words, poison dripping and waiting for Zuko to get angry, cry. Get a reaction out of him and hurt him, pushing him down, reminding him of his place.Katara teases with lightness. It doesn't feel directed specifically at him, each one of their group will be targeted in innocent jokes here and there. It is being part of something. Innocent. Missing the wanting to hurt. And Zuko nows Katara can make mean jokes, had gotten more than a few during their stay in the Western Air Temple."What a poet. A true word master," she snickers and nudges him with her elbow, the soup simmering between them. "Did you come out with it or did you read it from some romance scroll?"Zuko doesn't know what confession would be less embarrassing; he scratches his nape, ready to lie his way out of the conversation until he looks back at her, at the blue of her eyes. His gaze traces down the line of her nose, the bow of her lips to her mother's necklace. The only thing she had of her.His embarrassment slides off his shoulders and so does her humour; something changes in that kitchen. Zuko thinks of green crystals and green clothes, a lost second chance when he confesses, "My mother loves theatre." Using the present to talk about his mother is still foreign on his tongue, but he pushes through it, knowing his luck. "She was an actress and would read us stories by performing with masks Azula and I would craft. It seems I haven't lost the flair for drama."She is focusing on stirring their lunch when she suggests, "I saw the poster for a theatrical performance by some Ember Island Players. We should go to their play! I think it'd be fun!""Oh, I know them. They're not the best, I must say, but Mother never failed to bring us when we were…" He has to pause for a second. In this house, on this island… "Why not?" He mutters in the end. "I'd like it."She hums a satisfied melody, skirt shifting around her legs as she bends more water into the pot with a twist of her graceful wrists and arms. Fluid moves mirror her element and like her element, she cannot be contained. Zuko wants to help her, he does nothing if not stare with his heart beating too fast for his liking.The summer wind breezes in through the open windows and Zuko shamefully lets his eyes close and breaths in, shrugging off bad thoughts and rooting himself in this room, in this moment, listening to Katara’s humming.“Do you want to talk about what happened today?”Zuko brushes his hair out of his eyes, but the fringe goes right back where it was when he shakes his head."All right," Katara says, shrugging one shoulder casually. "I'll be there if you want to. When you're ready."She speaks as if the world has no place for loud things. A lie. Toph’s booming laugh and Sokka’s outraged gasp come from the private beach. In here, however? Soft and quiet like the summer snow of the cold pole she comes from. Zuko had never seen snow before adventuring among the ice. It was similar to the ashes from the ship's burner but with none of the implications.Similar to the white beads of whale-walrus ivory decorating her hair loops.What would she look like in her white tundra, with real snow on her hair? Zuko hadn't been paying attention when he had the chance."I know." It's a relief knowing it is the truth. He's not fighting alone anymore, has people on his side who believe in him. He hopes his uncle will be one of them again after Zuko apologises. "Thank you, Katara."
"Toph is biting Sokka's arm! Katara! Help!"
"Open your mouth! Toph!"
The commotion melts the moment like the constant heat of his ship did with the falling snow. She returns to the soup, hiding her face from him and Zuko goes for the door to save what he can of Sokka."No more salt!" He calls over his shoulder."You can’t stop me!" comes as an answer. It's true, they are both aware of it; not that Zuko would ever try again. Everyone is excited to do something new for a change. The market and training have their limits as entertainment. And so does building sand castles. Zuko wins the seat beside Katara by playing dumb and it seems it'll be an amazing evening of theatre.It's a total failure.Their looming possible deaths are cheered. Everyone claps for Father’s victory and the destruction of the rest of the world. Zuko should think about that.His mind has other priorities, though, stuck on his butchered scar and how his hair was played as a joke. His people understand what it means for him, an Agni’s son, to have no top knot, no hair accessories to his name, and unkempt hair. They should know and yet, they laugh at his humiliation and are happy for his defeat.They go back to the house and Zuko searches for solitude, escaping conversations before they can begin; he spreads the wanted poster against his thigh, using the surface to clear off the built wrinkles as best as he can.He hasn't unfolded it since the day of the market, trying to forget its existence as if there weren't hundreds glued to the walls around town. As if he doesn't see the same image in the mirror every single day.After the play, he traces the lines of the scar on the paper and the unruly hair they draw him with.With no parents to gift him a comb to keep his hair undamaged and well-tended, and with no hair accessory to protect him from the evil spirits, he became one.He chose the Blue Spirit on purpose, didn’t he?Zuko looks monstrous in the drawing and must look monstrous in the eyes of any Fire citizen. How could they follow him in peace as the next Fire Lord while he looks like an evil spirit from one of his mother’s stories?It’s in these thoughts that Toph finds him. The paper is quick to be concealed before Zuko slaps himself mentally, remembering that Toph cannot see and he unhides it. She attaches herself to his arm and doesn’t let go, sighing peacefully at his body warmth.Zuko is not a person who likes touches. He was. Then, too much of what he received was corrupted in its intentions. The entire ‘Gaang’ as they’ve named their group, is cuddles and positive words; something that made him itchy to scramble away from. He is learning to be more open, to accept it. Also, Toph doesn’t care if he likes it or not, she will attach herself to whatever part of his body is available during the cold evenings and colder nights. Zuko hadn't been sure how to react the first few times waking up with her latched to his back like a spider monkey.Arms squeezing his neck, head laid on his shoulder, and hair in his face. Salt in the air… 'But I'm ready to forgive you,' Zuko wouldn't mind another hug… "Still bitter my portrayal was cooler than yours, Sparky?""Nah, it was well deserved""Of course it was! Ah ah ah! The Blind Bandit wins again!” Her grin is feral and a second later, her knuckles meet his upper arm in a fist full of power and love. “So, what’s twisting your undergarments? Whatever it is is keeping you from ogling Sugar Queen from the other side of the bonfire, so it must be something huge. Oh! If it is self-loathing, go to her! She loves talking people out of that!""Toph!" He shushes her, glancing around for anyone else. Laughs are coming from the inside, in the family room where the light of the fireplace is sharper.Zuko has told them he doesn’t care if they snoop around the house, as there is nothing to hide besides lost happy memories under the dust. Sokka found a table game in Zuko's old room to play the rest of the night. The mood has improved."What?" She fakes innocence as if there was no wild grin twisting her face. “Wait, you thought you weren’t being obvious? Wow, you did think you weren’t obvious!”“Toph! Lower your voice!”And if everything isn’t already mortifying enough, she starts singing and clapping her hands in rhythm, “Sparky and Sugar Queen sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S—""I am not above shoving you off this roof!" It's a vain threat, both of them know, but it is enough to make her stop, still grinning, but at least Zuko has won this battle. The war will be harder.“Boys are always so susceptible,” her head tilts upwards towards the moon, arms behind her to sustain her weight and feet on the tiles. A pleased quiet descends, only interrupted by the distant shouts of foul play and excuses from the board game. The moon is high, a few days past her fullness and the sea waves reflect her light as they go to shore in their constant pattern.“So? What’s the problem? Tell Toph!""It's stupid, don't worry." She is twelve; Zuko shouldn't trouble her with his worries.“Don’t be like this,” she slams against him to annoy him and Zuko huffs, more bothered that her antics do not actually bug him than anything she does. His arm circles her shoulders, controlling his body temperature to be a notch higher for her comfort. Being like this sparks his mind to wonder that had it not been for Ozai's meddling between him and Azula, they too could have had such a relationship. If his arm squeezes Toph a little more than necessary to his side, it's no one's business.“We’re friends, Sparky! And as such we tell each other what is bothering us. We do not brood in silence,” Toph nods along with her words, “even if we look incredible in doing so.”Zuko has never had friends. It takes a clumsy process of mistakes and learning from them to understand the intricacy of friendship. If Uncle Iroh were here, he’d tell some metaphor about tea cups being solid but also fragile. ‘You must pay attention, nephew, where you put it. If you are careless, it could tip and fall and spill the tea! And no one likes spilt tea and sweeping broken pieces. No worries, a little of gold and everything can be amended…’ or something along those lines.He misses his uncle.Taking a leap of faith, Zuko explains, “In my wanted poster, the scar is on the wrong side.” It was the first thing he noticed in the drawings. Then, the hair.“Today at the play…”“On the wrong side too, yes. I just—" He smothers the anger ready to ignite. He thought he had moved on, and he has. In a way. He takes a breath in; when the air is exhaled it's more smoke than anything else. "After everything he did to me, isn't the minimum to remember which side of my face he burnt?"There is a hitch of a gasp from beside him. Zuko realises Toph doesn’t know who gave him his scar. She whispers, “The Fire Lord did that to you?" sealing the case.“Yes. My banishment was a very public affair… how didn’t you know?”“Weren’t you exiled when you were thirteen years old?" A count of fingers later, “I was nine years old and Aang was in an iceberg, Katara and Sokka isolated behind the ice of the South Pole and Suki behind the neutrality of Kyoshi Island. How would we know?"“Oh,” Zuko is stunned but he must admit it makes sense. He thought everyone would know of the tale of the banished Crown Prince with no honour to his name. “You’re right…” What is there more to say? His father burnt his face to teach him a lesson and to strip him of Agni’s gift."Can you describe your face? I want to know how you look."A beat of silence. Zuko knows she won’t be put down if he negates her. She would shrug and move on, sturdy as the earth she bends. No hurt feelings between them. It’s what makes him feel so serene with Toph, that they do not have a history. He stopped walking on his toes around the others— around Katara, mostly— but habits and doubts are hard to extinguish sometimes.Zuko has never tried to kill Toph, nor capture or hurt her family in his search for the Avatar. There had only been a clean beginning with them if he doesn’t count the accident with burning her feet.“Yeah, sure”It's an awkward affair in the anticipatory quietness between them, even more so as Toph doesn't move and gives him time to find the right words. He would prefer for her to say anything, to make the air less heavy."Long face, straight nose, and shaggy hair," he blurts to cut to the chase and get it over with. "Scar on the left side," Zuko ends it.Toph hums and the roof tiles move from under their feet, making Zuko slip a little, losing his foothold for a moment. He furrows his lonely eyebrow watching his friend bend an oval."Lord of details, are we? I need more— I am blind!""Sorry… What are you doing?""And you're dumb. What a combo we are, the blind and the dumb. I hope you're pretty, at least""Are you…" He stares. Her fingers melt and twist the tiles with ease, creating lines that seem to resemble… "You're sculpting my face!"She stops, angling her head towards him with an arched eyebrow, visible through her fringe. "We are lucky Sugar Queen has brains for the both of you or we would be lost. Come on, details!"In astonishment, Zuko finds himself directing her fingers with his voice, explaining how to construct a replica of his face. It makes sense; Toph is connected with her bending in a way that not many benders could understand. Zuko is jealous of what she can create. Her movements are strong; they have purpose. He smells the dirt rising with the dust as she chisels his nose, waiting for his confirmation to move on new lines."I like your nose," is her sole comment.The scene is less… personal, more matter of fact— until it does become personal for him because Zuko sees his face as it was before his honour was burnt off it.Zuko sees his Father. His stomach crunches in on itself. "I look a lot like the Fire Lord.” Stop talking. Stop talking, you idiot! He chastises himself and yet, “The court enjoyed telling me that until… they stopped for obvious reasons. The scar is missing."Toph must hear more than what Zuko likes to reveal in his confession."Tell me about your scar," she prompts him and Zuko can't look at the sculpture any longer even if Toph's movements don't even minimally resemble Katara's in the crystal caves. It's still too raw.His eyes fall on what he hid for days, understanding he can search for solitude and try to push down who he is, what happened to him… but Zuko will never escape himself. The drawing is right there waiting to catch him, obliging him to acknowledge the aftermath of his choices. And, "My scar…" He sighs. The words come out so easily, almost painfully easily, without the chance for his brain to filter them out. "My scar looks as if a crumpled piece of paper was being tried to be smoothed out, back to what it was, but it will never reach its original state"He doesn't watch as Toph, silently, bends his description."The fire took my eyebrow, the healed skin crunches my left eye almost shut, and I’m missing chunks of hair over my ear. And it’s red. It looks burnt," he rushes out. He doesn't want to go further. "Just burnt," Zuko concludes, defeated, because what could be a better description than the sorry, miserable truth? He waits for Toph to say something for a long time as she studies what she and her bending created together.She bumps into his side with a shrug, "A blessing in disguise, that scar of yours. Who wants to look like a murdering asshole who has beef with children? He should get a hobby outside of world domination."Zuko attempts to laugh, "Swearword, Toph? Should I tell Katara?" He provokes her, distracting her and downplaying the conversation to save his heart. "She won't be happy." But he is when the punch goes straight to his sternum, knowing he succeeded in changing the topic."Don't be a snitch! You’re the cooler parent, don’t start to lose points now”“Cooler…” He shakes his head in confusion. “Why do I get points?”“Your fringe!” Toph exclaims, hugging his arm that hangs from her right shoulder to her chest. “We’re fringe buddies!” Her finger points to her eyes, or better, to the locks of hair covering them.He doesn’t want to lose points with Toph, he likes having points, however… the wanted poster is freed from his clutch. “I wanted to cut my hair actually… you won’t be angry with me, right? If I do that…”Toph whistles a long, sharp note of sardonic pity in the air; the salty wind coming from the sea takes it away from them. “Wow, Zuko… I was joking about the self-loathing but— I hope Twinkletoes beats your father to a pulp. If he doesn’t, I will.”It’s quite the amusing image: a twelve-year-old blind earthbender going against the Fire Lord. He thinks if she did, the Blind Bandit would emerge still undefeated. “You have a magic touch in striking dread in adults’ hearts," he says.She takes it as a compliment, continuing much louder, “New haircut, new you— I understand this, I am a girl. So, no, Zuko, I will not be mad. I’m twelve, not a child”“I think being twelve makes you a child— ah! All right, sorry!” His hand massages the spot where a new, and hopefully last of the night, bruise will appear.Her feral grin is back, slowly and menacingly emerging through the curtain of hair her face is concealed behind and Zuko fears for his life. “And I also know who you can ask,” she snickers in her hands.❆☀❆
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
New haircut, new you, Toph said, not knowing how right she was by his nation's cultural standard. Cutting one’s hair is a life-altering change.Zuko cut his hair to display the loss of his status and his dishonour. He cut his hair again to show his rejection of the Fire Nation's beliefs in self-exile. Now his hair has grown out; it’s too long. It brushes his chin, knotted here and there.It hides his scar, yes, but for how long will that be needed? In a few days, the comet will pass through the sky and Zuko will have to defeat his sister in an Agni Kai.In victory or death, hiding his identity won’t matter anyway.He never lost his honour in the first place. He knows that now, and he has to show this to his people so they won’t see him as an evil spirit coming to wreck the greatness of the Fire Nation, but as an Agni’s son, coming to help restore the balance with the Avatar by his side.It’s time to distance himself from who he was and let the new him breathe fire.It’s easier said than done.Zuko calms himself just enough to raise his fist, but then— nothing. Like all the other times, his arm joins the other at his side as he resumes his pacing up and down the corridor. In front of the girls’ bedroom, he will hesitate, he will garner a spark of short-lived courage… but he will not knock.He has fought to the death, jumped from high grounds, adventured into a blizzard with no real plan, survived Azula, and confronted his father and his lightning with no fear in his heart… so why is he scared of knocking on a door?He has the fire of dragons running through his veins! He… he…Zuko freezes his pacing mid-step, noticing Suki studying him from the end of the hall."It's not what you think!" is the first thing out of his stupid mouth. Zuko wants to punch himself in the face.Suki’s stance is casual. One shoulder leans against a column in the doorway, relaxed while watching Zuko's pathetic attempt at bravery. She hums, betraying nothing of her thoughts— except her smirk is not subtle and grows only larger the more Zuko shifts, self-conscious under her knowing eyes.But hey! This is his family's house! He has the right to be wherever he wants without any judgement from any outside party, and if Zuko wants to frantically walk the hall outside the… girls' bedroom with… scissors in hand, he can…"It's really not what you think, Suki!" He emphasises, hiding the scissors behind his back and— that makes him seem creepier, doesn't it?Why is he so bad at not looking bad?!He hopes the candles’ blaze is soft enough to make it hard to see how hot his face burns.Girls talk, don’t they? At least, Azula, Ty Lee, and Mai did. A lot. Zuko couldn’t do anything without Azula telling Ty Lee and Mai by the end of the day.So, in his experience, Suki will tell Katara how suspicious Zuko was being outside their door while everyone knows Katara is bathing and… Azula would probably kill him slightly faster than Katara would, so perhaps he should just let himself get captured— "And what should I think?"There is a sort of infuriating chuckle in Suki’s words. Her grey eyes gleam in amusement as she pushes herself off the column to walk towards him. Zuko eyes the door, letting a moment of silence go by while he thinks about how to put his intentions into words without signing his death warrant.His shoulders drop, deciding honesty is the best course of action. The reason flashes out from his half-closed mouth into the hall and instead of looking at Suki directly, Zuko peeks at her from behind his long fringe, using it as the physical barrier that it is.“I will be honest, Zuko,” Suki begins in a would-be serious voice, except she devolves quickly into laughter. “I did not understand a word of what you just said.”"Oh… sorry." A finger hooks his neckline, hoping the fresh air of the night will curb the heat from his blush. "I said, I need to ask Katara for a favour," Zuko repeats clearer, quite happy his voice hasn't betrayed him by quivering. It's solid when he continues, "I don't know if she's done with her bath and I didn't know how to… I mean, I—I didn't want to disturb her…"— but his words fail him as he trails off into a noise of uncertainty.At this, Suki's smirk grows and grows, but it also looks gentler. Endeared, Zuko thinks, feeling a little better.“Do you want me to check if she’s finished?”Zuko doesn’t even think twice before quickly agreeing. “Yes, thank you, Suki. I’d appreciate it. Yes.”He moves away, back to the wall, slouching in relief to have been spared from any compromising situation; Suki’s hand goes for the door. Doesn’t open it. Her brow arches as she eyes the scissors in his hand. Her stare slowly travels up and meets his gaze, but with no real judgment, only curiosity.Zuko can survive that. “Yes?” In that one word, he gives her permission to ask any questions. Suki is quiet for a long moment, until finally: “You want Katara to cut your hair.”They look at one another, both knowing the direction this line of questioning is going. Zuko doesn't lie. It wouldn't help him; Suki already knows, and in a way, he wants to be truthful about his feelings. To be open with another person, something which had always been denied to him, whether by his father, himself, or the destiny he’d thought was in front of him. His softer feelings were always drowned in the fire of his anger, in the shame of his dishonour— in the yearning for the past.He doesn't want to feel ashamed of what his heart desires, of the simple scenarios he dreams of with Katara by his side. They are not harming anybody. Maybe him a little bit, but that's nothing new for Zuko. This time, it's a bittersweet thing. Fragile like the flame of a candle, warm and illuminating the darkness. He wants to cherish that flame, so he does not avoid Suki's eyes. He doesn't search for excuses nor does he fake not knowing his own traditions when he answers, "Yes," even though her statement hadn't been a question.Chin up and proud, he does not run away from the truth of his intentions.“Does she know?”“I don’t think she does, no.”Escaping capture and living undercover, as Katara had done, leaves little time to learn a place's culture. Suki, on the other hand, travelled around the Earth Kingdom, connecting with all sorts of people and all sorts of cultures. Plus, she was imprisoned in a Fire Nation prison— with Fire Nation citizens.Suki doesn’t comment further, just tells him she’ll be quick and closes the door after her, leaving Zuko alone and full of feelings. He can’t decide if they are simple or complicated.He likes Katara. It seems simple enough. However, he likes Katara.That one sentence screams ‘complicated’. Zuko does not want to think about any of that, though. Thinking leads to overthinking, a bottomless pit he really doesn’t want to fall into. He wants to live the reality of his feelings in silence; he wants to let everything take its course without him questioning anything. For once in his life.And what if Zuko had no parents to cut his hair for him? What if he could do it alone, as he had done since his mother's disappearance? Uncle had offered once and Zuko rejected him, refusing to allow the only person left in his life to stain himself with dishonour.No one else is allowed, by Agni's word. Except for a significant other.Significant other means a spouse. A partner for life under Agni’s eye. But sometimes, a significant other also means a girl who knows who Zuko was in the past. Knows his mistakes and his confusion, and from what and who he came from. A girl who trusted him, and then after he betrayed her reaching hand, she forgave him.
Arms squeezing his neck, head laid on his shoulder, and hair in his face. Salt in the air…
A girl who looked at him and saw the good he could do— the good he could be. Who better than such a girl to help him go through another life-altering change?It’ll be a secret between him and the sun.It’s not Lee going out with Jin. It’s not disillusioned Prince Zuko going out with Mai. It's just Zuko, who found his honour by choosing to do good, who didn’t discard his mistakes as if they were unimportant, but acknowledged them and committed to being better. Just Zuko, who likes being with Katara. Likes Katara.Katara… strong and intelligent. Bluest of eyes."She'll be out soon," Suki says, interrupting his thoughts.Zuko bows his head in gratitude. Suki walks to the end of the hall, a newly worn shawl on her shoulders. Without pausing or turning around she declares, "I will make sure no one disturbs you two.""I— thank you." Zuko is alone again. Just as Suki had reassured him, Katara does not take long to come out of the bedroom. He flinches when she appears from his left side where his sight and hearing haven't been the same since his very first Agni Kai.Her hair is damp, long and pulled half back to leave her lovely face free from any inconvenience. She greets him with, "Heard you were looking for me? Something about a favour to ask?"Zuko is quick to recover, standing up straighter and off the wall. "Yes, I…" He hesitates. She doesn't know how important this is for him. She'll think it's another thing she has to do for the group, another task to check off her long mental to-do list. She will never know he hasn't even allowed Uncle Iroh to cut his hair.Katara quirks an eyebrow in confusion, waiting, and Zuko pushes the words forward. They sit strangely on his tongue and move weirdly on his lips."Cut your hair?" She asks for confirmation, a hand holding her chin as her eyes analyse his head and the hair in front of his face. "I thought having long hair in the Fire Nation was customary."He doesn't want to go any further to reveal any more of his culture. How much does she know? Perhaps she and the others did have time to learn more than the basics. She'd be weirded out, he is sure of it. Who does Zuko think he is, to consider her his significant other?His free fingers try to brush his hair to make it less unruly. It doesn't do anything at all. "It’s too unkempt, nothing of it is proper. I need a new start… if you can't, it's alright, I'll just cut it myself," he says, his speech faltering.He can't look at her, scared that she in some way knows what he is truly asking her to do. He watches a point over her shoulder, safer than meeting her gaze in that hall softened by the light of the candles he and Aang lit after returning from the play. The flickering light lets off a wash of orange and dims the atmosphere, making it feel almost sleepy. Also more intimate."All right, you came to the right person!" Her chin is raised, relaxed in her pose as she declares, "I have been cutting hair basically since the dawn of time! I am an expert!"The way she doesn't acknowledge the importance of his request makes him mirror her mannerisms, melting his worries. "Do you cut Sokka's hair too?""A perfect wolf tail, if I do say so myself," she grins, folding her arms to her chest and popping her hip out in a pose of confidence."It explains why he looks so stupid—"She bends water from out of her hair to splash him into silence. "Toph will be enthusiastic to take my place if you don't shut up. Wait for me in the courtyard, I'll be there soon!" And Katara slams the door closed behind her with quite the skip in her step.Zuko has always been good at following orders. He slips outside, bending fire into the lamps around the inner courtyard and, after a moment of self-doubt in which he asks himself if he is pushing it too far, he takes his vest off and folds it on the steps. Shorn hair is a nuisance to get off of clothes.He hadn't thought to take off his upper attire when he cut his top knot, concentrating too much on trying not to cry like the child he was. Too focused on maintaining what shreds of dignity his father had left him.Zuko sits on a stool he’d taken from the kitchen and waits, short-breathed, with anxiety streaming up and down his spine like the aftermath of redirecting lighting. He could feel the same little sparks that would make him tense and move around to discharge the electricity. His feet stay put on the ground and whenever his knee jerks, he squeezes it to halt it. Zuko is being dramatic. What can he say, it runs in the family. A haircut cannot be compared to being shot with lighting, he knows, so he should stop being so nervous. No one is trying to kill him. But self-reproach doesn’t work as well as it did in the past. He distracts himself instead by looking up at the sky and missing the heat of a cup of tea in his hands. Not just any cup of tea, but Uncle Iroh's tea. Perhaps one from their days of The Jasmine Dragon when everything felt less heavy and too shiny to be real.Tea is juice-y water but what wouldn't he give to taste his uncle’s one more time before the world ends in flames? Not for the first time, Zuko wonders where the man is, if the news of the Fire Prince turned traitor reached him and reassured him that Zuko finally understood his place at the Avatar's side. He wonders if Uncle Iroh misses him as much as he is missed. If he would be sad that the first person Zuko let cut his hair in years will not be him but a girl from far away, icy lands with no knowledge of the weight he was bestowing on her. Zuko bites his bottom lip because he already knows the answer to his question. He blushes, also knowing the sardonic smile of teasing happiness his uncle would send Zuko and Katara's way. And he bites harder in harsh punishment, blinking his eyes to destroy the evidence of his emotions when the door opens and a shadow appears, turning from the light of the house. What wouldn't he give to talk to Uncle about Katara? About how she makes him feel like he’s drowning?“I’m here!”Katara skips down the final step of the porch with a small jump, her sandals weakening the sounds of her hurried movements. Zuko counts each step it takes her to finally reach him, a towel perched on her shoulder and a full bowl of water in her hands, which sways here and there but no liquid splashes out. She smiles and Zuko wishes he could reciprocate with an awkward one of his. But whatever would appear on his face would worry her, and she would ask why Zuko is so agitated before a haircut. She’d ask how stupid must Zuko be to be so concerned. She would think he doesn't believe she is capable of doing the job…Or worse, not worthy of cutting a Fire Prince's hair. But Katara would also understand if Zuko explained to her more about his culture, his place in his people's society, and about his uncle. She would get it because of her experience with the backward mindset of the North Pole and the alienation of being the last of her kind in the South; because her father may have been saved from imprisonment, but he hasn’t escaped danger yet. Though, the last time Katara saw her father, it wasn't through the bars of a prison, amid doubts and disappointment directed at her…Nevertheless, if Zuko weren’t a coward, he would tell her all of it and more. She calls his name when the minutes stretch by and he has yet to move. “Still here,” he croaks, clearing his throat to sound unaffected. “Scissors?”The metal glints in the flames surrounding the courtyard as Zuko waits for Katara to take control of the situation, waits for her to pull him through the high waters into the safety of her decisions. It should not be shocking when instead of following the wishes of a tired coward, Katara lends him her hand with a soft, “How do you want it?” while the blue of her eyes falls into half moons. Zuko’s heart spikes, right eye opening wide at her smile. Embarrassingly, he hopes Katara’s awareness of blood is not as developed as it is with pure water, because otherwise she would know his feelings within seconds of standing near him. Then, her question breaches through the fluttering of his heart and he freezes. He thought he finally found his path and yet, here Zuko is with another choice to make. It makes him angry how affected he is by this situation. Irrationally angry and he almost replies, ‘Just do it! I don’t care!’ Once, when the fire of his anger had consumed his whole being, he would have. Would have perhaps stressed his point with a stream of flames. Katara would have taught him a new lesson, as she always did when they faced each other.But if he said that, it wouldn’t be true. Zuko cares; that has always been his issue.He cared too much about his image and his destiny and his honour, all which haunted him while Zuko hunted them down. He cared about his father’s approval and then his uncle’s; the opinion of his people and of his friends… especially the one belonging to the girl in front of him. This is why Katara cannot just do it, it must be proper and between them, he is the one with both the experience of cutting his hair and the knowledge of acceptable cultural standards. It has been so long, though. Even during his short time back in the Fire Lord’s grace, Zuko did not cut his hair and Azula did not offer her help in doing so, not that Zuko would have ever accepted it. It was better to hide his fears and doubts in a too-big top knot than to have to salvage the awful cut his sister would have undoubtedly gifted him. Katara waits patiently. Zuko cannot meet her eyes any longer through the locks of his bangs. He tracks the ripples of water in the bowl and the shattered reflection of his face.Another mirror. Another Zuko. Another pondering. How does Zuko want his hair? What new life change will he embrace? Who will Zuko become this time around?Prince, dishonoured, traitor, evil spirit… in all this uncertainty, at least there is something that helps: the most important choice was already made. A prince and his once proper nation: both lost in the fire, however, one was on the path of redemption and the other was merely in need of guidance to understand that its place was not above but among. Not how Zuko wants to see himself, but how Zuko feels he is right now, and he feels like a sixteen-old boy with a dream of a never-ending summer to spend with his friends, swimming and sparring and going to stupid theatre productions and the market, watching the girl that has enchanted him juggle through prices as she juggles with bubbles of water and pinches of salt. Letting Lee go does not mean he must let go of the simpler times. ‘Taste the tea while warm, nephew,’ Uncle Iroh would tell him. ‘The heat won’t last forever.’ Instead of ruminating on complicated things, Zuko takes a deep breath, expanding his chest and exhaling like he’s readying himself for a duel or relaxing before the electricity of lighting passes through his nerves. Easy, Zuko chooses to take it easy. With his exhaled air, the pressures melt from his shoulders in a pool at his feet. He breaks eye contact with his reflection. “Trim it. Could you… just trim it?” Perhaps it won’t be the best haircut according to his culture, but it will be a start. Piece by piece Zuko and the Fire Nation will rise from their ashes. Small steps like the start of a bending training session, before you find your flow; small steps like preparing tea. Small steps like working to be forgiven by a certain waterbender. “Trim it?”The more her eyebrow rises in an arch the more his hope diminishes in his chest. Katara thinks Zuko is wasting her time. And he is, isn’t he? Trim it? Who would ask for her to take time out of her busy day to just trim it?“Is it… is it too much? Too little? I can—”“For La’s sake, Zuko! With all that thinking, I was worried you would ask something complicated!” She sighs, a hand on her chest and an exasperated look forming. “I feared I would just make a disaster of your head!” “It is already a disaster,” Zuko mumbles, taken aback. She seemed so confident of her capacity with the scissors. Luckily, Katara does not know what it means for him to get a haircut; a blessing in disguise. “You cannot do worse,” he reassures her. She could do worse, but Zuko will not be the one admitting that to her. She shakes her hair, the simple top-knot rattles with it and so does the red flame accessory. Zuko studies it. How can something be so heavy, as light as it is? Zuko thinks, hand itching to touch his head. “We trim it, then?”He hums his confirmation, too scared that he’ll air all of his concerns if he opens his mouth again. “Very well!”Without any further warning, it is a quick move of hips and arms which separates Zuko from his dry hair to his head dripping water on the floor and down his spine and chest. The water is cold against the constant burning of his inner fire; the quick change in temperature makes him flinch. Zuko had never once bothered to wet his hair before taking a knife to it. “And now for the fun part,” Katara opens and closes the scissors, slashing the air twice with a glint of pure content in her eyes. Zuko is too focused on admiring it to realise her fingers reaching and touching; too focused on the person in front of him to realise the flaw in his plan.Zuko cannot stop the shiver down his spine or the loss of breath at the feeling of her fingers brushing through his hair. His eyes shut at the memory of other fingers, another smile— the memory of another snip of scissors.The first lock falls, almost weightless, toward his feet.Like it is nothing.Zuko’s mind travels back into himself as he remembers how his hair floated to the ground feather-like. “You have goosebumps— Was the water too cold?” Zuko shakes his head. His next breath is too loud; the intentional relaxing of his shoulders is too obvious for any reasonable excuse. “Don’t worry,” he says, blinking away a face of the past, concentrating on the girl in the present. “I will not stay cold for long.” “I could have still heated it up, but it must be nice always being warm.”One more snip and the gift of the sun spills onto their sandals. And another one, echoing in his ears. “It has its perks, yes,” Zuko hears himself say, but his voice sounds distant under the noise of the scissors opening and closing.Locks of hair fall like little droplets of water, cut and reshaped by Katara’s will and her strong hands. Zuko drowns in the sounds of the metal and of the fast heartbeat in his throat.Wasn’t this his idea? Why can’t he calm down?His hands itch to cover his ears to block the sounds, so he squeezes his trouser legs to stop them from trembling. He wants to ask her to talk, to distract him from all the little pieces of himself and his life being cut away— cut away to leave space for new pieces to grow…Space for this Zuko to grow in his scarred— snip— skin. Snip. Snip, snip, snip sn— “Your hair pearls!” Zuko exclaims breathlessly above the overbearing sound and hopes Katara is too concentrated on her work to see the mess he is in. “Hm? What about them?”Katara shifts behind him to tackle the mop of hair near his neck.What about them? Zuko doesn’t know why he thought of her whale-walrus pearls. Standard hair accessories from the Fire Nation have replaced them, but sometimes, in the morning, Zuko will gaze at Katara reaching for her pearls and gesturing to put her locks in her normal loops before remembering where they are. Then, the pearls will find their place back at her mother’s necklace’s side— far from her body.‘They stand out too much to go unnoticed,’ she said once when Aang commented on them missing. ‘Just like you put a hat to go out, I must do what must be done for the sake of the mission.’“What evil spirit do your whale-walrus pearls chase away?” Katara makes a confused sound, her fingers rippling trembles at their passage. Zuko will blame the drops of water cascading from the tips of his hair onto his naked back.“They don’t chase away any spirits, they are decoration. Why? Should they?” Her head peeks above his shoulder; her glance shows him how amused Katara is by his question. “Are there any evil spirits around us I should worry about?”Zuko panics at her voice in his ear and her gaze on the blush of his face.“Aang would be the better person to answer that question,” he jumps to reply, “… from being the Avatar and”— his hand waves awkwardly around as he tries to find the right word—“and… all that,” is what comes out. The mention of Aang introduces an awkwardness that wasn’t there before. Guilt, as well. Everyone knows of the crush Aang has on Katara and surely, Aang must be the only other person, aside from Suki and Zuko, to know the meaning behind this haircut. How would he react to finding Katara with her pretty fingers in Zuko’s dark hair?His great-grandfather burnt down Aang’s entire culture, his father wants to kill him, his sister nearly achieved that, and now Zuko has gone from trying to capture him to asking his crush to cut his hair. Yes, for her it is an innocent thing, but Aang would know it is not the same for Zuko.
The kid can’t catch a break from his family, can he?“I was a spirit once,” Katara says, interrupting his guilt session. “And so were you,” she pauses to look at him again over his shoulder. “We have a few things to say about spirits ourselves, wouldn’t you agree?”Her hair cascades in waves, free from the braid Zuko used to always see her with. What would it feel like to pull her hair aside and leave a kiss on the fluttering of her heart? To feel the effect of his love right on his lips? Zuko wants to beg her not to talk to him like that, because then he will think he has a chance and that he is good enough to stand by her side; he will think that if he turns around and tells her the meaning of what she is doing, tells her how his heart burns for her smiles, she might give him one. He’ll think she wouldn’t be disgusted by his omission. It hurts to know it won’t happen like it does in his imagination.Dreams are creatures of the night for a reason; there is no space for them under the sun that shines on the truth. On reality. If they win or if they lose, nothing will change for him. If they see another day, Zuko will have a nation to deconstruct and rebuild, far away from her icy lands. And if fire is what will end them, well, they will all be ashes anyway. But, right now the sun is asleep. Her Tui is present, and the feeble light of the moon makes it sweeter to dream. “You were a good spirit,” he says. “We are not the same.”“You did good too.” Her words should make him feel ecstatic, however, Zuko knows there was nothing good in his actions except for their results. He didn’t save Aang from General Zhao for Aang’s safety; he didn’t unchain Appa to make the Gaang happy.Zuko looks away towards the house when he says, “For selfish reasons. Like I said, not the same.” And if Aang being mentioned made things awkward, then his words soured everything. Katara shuts up, and she returns to cutting the back of his head in silence. Zuko wants to apologise because she was just trying to be nice, but Zuko cannot handle ‘nice’ when talking about his mistakes. “And your hair loops?” He clears his throat, hand automatically rubbing his neck in embarrassment. Katara slaps it away with a huff, grumbling at him not to disrupt her work. “Do they have a special meaning?”It isn’t an apology, but it is a white flag of sorts, which Katara, luckily, accepts.“... It’s how my Gran Gran does her hair, other than that, no. Look forward.” She pushes his chin back towards the front. “Just another hairstyle. There is a lot of work to do, and something simple like a lock of hair in your eyes could mean life or death at home.”“So, hair is a… a nuisance?”“Not a nuisance, just it should never be in the way. A good hunt brings food, supplies, and our hunters back home. It means life for the entire community, and that is the most important thing. Believe me, you don’t want your hair in your face when confronted with a polar bear dog… but hair is something special too. It connects us to our ancestors and—” Katara hesitates a little and Zuko can’t stop himself from turning slightly to see her pensive expression. She seems so far away, and for a second, Zuko almost asks her where she is— but the question is quickly answered when she finally continues speaking. “In the morning, married couples will do each other’s hair before starting the day.”Was the last time young Katara saw her parents braiding each other’s hair the day her mother died? Does she even remember it or has the memory faded with time?“It is a way to protect the one you love from any harm before letting them go for the day.”Zuko can’t imagine his parents doing any of that. However, during their wedding, it must have happened. He thinks of an exchange of braiding hair, weaving it with promises of passion; two people wearing fire red and sun gold; scissors passing from one to the other. In his vision, only one person has black hair. He murmurs, “It sounds really sweet,” before slowly turning back to his initial position to let Katara finish the haircut. His feelings were easier to control when fighting Katara meant an annoying obstacle not worth his time instead of fighting a spiking heartbeat because she just won a spar against him. After three years in search of the Avatar, what was between him and his return home was a girl with no bending skills. Her only advantage was her element being superior to his by nature but, in the great scheme of things, Zuko has always worked harder with an incentive to surpass someone. Surpass Katara, he will never. “Thank you for telling me about your culture.” She snorts and, “You sound so formal,” makes fun of him. A final snip and Katara crouches at his feet, looking upwards at him with a twist of something Zuko is scared to translate, so he doesn’t try.Her head quirks to the side, chin on the palm of her hand. She admires her work. “Does your head feel lighter?”It is intense. Zuko swallows and cannot divert his eyes from hers because, for the longest time, unkempt locks have divided their gazes from meeting. Now, thanks to her help, there are no bars between Zuko and the world.Between Zuko and his future.Agni will forgive him; what is one eye closed on Katara cutting his hair compared to all the closed eyes given on the atrocities that the Fire Nation and his family put the world through?“Not as much as when I had my ponytail,” he chuckles to regain control over his breath. And the laugh bursting from her lips is the most delicious sound of all. It sends a thrill through his veins, bubbling in his ears. “It was truly hideous. I can’t believe you chose that”Zuko bites his cheek, sliding his vest back on so he will have an excuse not to see the face she will make when he informs her, “It was not my choice. It was what was expected of me after losing my honour.” “Was— now— also expected of you?”Zuko decides to stay silent, revelations trapped between teeth and time lost.“I hope it will help you find some peace,” Katara declares when the silence stretches and she understands Zuko will not answer. She stands up, shrugging off his surprise and the hair from her clothes. “I won’t ask, promise,” she continues while bending the water out of his hair to dry it.He wants to say something, to open his chest and reveal all of him to all of her. The moment escapes through his fingers when, after a last soft look and the birth of an even softer smile, Katara sighs, “Now, I can finally see your eyes.”When Zuko finds his voice again, she is already one step inside the house, but she stops when he calls out her name. With the ghost of her fingers brushing his hair, he wishes he could pursue this path; wishes the night could last forever. Zuko wishes she wasn’t this far away, so he could catch up. “Katara, thank you!”