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Zuko had spent long enough in Ba Sing Se to know that this winter was unnaturally cold.
Eight years, to be precise.
At first he’d only planned on attending university in this city, so certain that he would want to leave after.
He hadn’t really counted on the fact that Uncle would be so blissfully happy, with his own tea shop that he’d founded in the Middle Ring. And Zuko especially hadn’t counted on the fact that he would become happy here too; that he would find friends that felt like family, and that he would still enjoy the days that he helped Uncle in the shop, much as he had complained about it when he’d been younger.
On the other days he focused on his photography and photo editing, which was yet another thing he’d never expected. But Zuko had discovered early on that being behind a camera meant that less people stared at his scar, and that the general pressures of social interaction wasn't quite as anxiety-inducing when he could safely watch through his lens. It also didn’t hurt that he’d turned out to have a knack for it.
Tonight he weaved through the crowded streets of Ba Sing Se with his camera out, at a much slower pace than usual due to the steady bustle of the weekend shopping crowds. Winter was upon them, and Ba Sing Se sparkled.
Even the Lower Ring had strung up lights in a few of their better maintained streets, but the Middle and Upper Rings were true sights to behold, filled with endless baubles and balls of all colors, glinting merrily against the backdrop of freshly fallen snow.
Ba Sing Se hardly ever saw snow, but that was different this year as well. Fluffy white coated surfaces everywhere Zuko looked, sprinkled delicately upon street lamps and cars and roofs, with more snow falling to fill the footsteps previously made. Snowmen were already creeping up on sidewalks, awkward and misshapen, but snowmen nonetheless.
Zuko slowly snapped pictures, so he was a few minutes late when he finally turned at the park, keeping to the biggest path. There was a specific bench that served as a usual meeting spot, and sure enough, a cluster of almost all of Zuko’s favorite people stood huddled together, waiting for him.
There was Toph, nearly two heads shorter than the rest but somehow the most formidable; Aang, tall and lanky, whose stubble was rapidly growing into a full beard and who wore a coat of bright, shocking orange; Suki, one of her arms weaved tightly through Sokka’s, the other lifting to give Zuko a cheerful little wave; Sokka himself, mid-bite in a gigantic gingerbread cookie, though that did not stop him from calling out a greeting, crumbs flying out of his mouth while Suki sighed affectionately; and, of course, Katara.
Zuko felt a burst of warmth ripple through him when he saw her, his heart ticking up its pace.
No big deal. Old news. It didn’t matter how many times a day he saw her.
His reactions to her were embarrassingly predictable.
He sometimes tried to think of a time before these reactions—the feeling that his very intestines were squirming whenever he looked at her, or that somehow he was lighter than air, or the sense that he probably should stop staring or smiling like an idiot, possibly both—but it was getting increasingly difficult to remember a time before. He’d thought maybe it would go away.
Months and months later, he’d learned how very wrong he was.
Katara beamed at him as he approached. She wore a scarf around her neck that exactly matched the blue color of her eyes, and she stood directly under a black street lamp woven with fairy lights, softening her features with a low glow. Long, curly brown hair tumbled out from under her winter hat, framing her face and falling to her waist.
Sokka stooped down and began gathering snow into his hands. “Perfect,” he said, straightening up. “I’ve been waiting to chuck this at your face pretty much ever since it started snowing.”
Zuko brandished the camera. “No snowball fights. Expensive technology here, Sokka.”
Sokka pouted. “Aw, come on. That can’t be an excuse. Put it away.”
Zuko just waved the camera again with a little smirk, holding it carefully in front of him like a shield. Aang took the opportunity to slip behind Sokka and shove snow down his jacket collar, and from there a furious snowball fight commenced.
Pleased to be left out of it, Zuko backed to the nearest safe area and raised his camera to his good eye.
It was late afternoon, and the golden-pink light of the slowly setting sun was perfect for pictures.
So he took photo after photo, content to stay dry and watch the scene unfold through his camera. Several families walking along the path with their children watched with haughty, disapproving expressions as the twenty-somethings had their rather violent and increasingly loud snowball fight. His friends had no regard to who was watching them laugh and hurl snowballs at each other, slowly becoming red-faced with exertion. Others that passed through the park, however, looked on in fond amusement at the sight of the friends. Toph was by far the most vicious participant, and she always seemed to manage to land perfect strikes to the back of Aang’s bald head.
By the time they had all worn themselves out and Katara trudged over to Zuko, grumbling under her breath, her hat askew and hair wet from melting snow, Zuko had taken at least a hundred photos of it all. The sun was fading behind the horizon and bringing harsher cold with it.
He chuckled at the disgruntled look on Katara's face.
“Laugh all you want,” Katara said, nudging her side affectionately with his in a way that made his heart stutter, before she took his arm and began pulling him along, “but Toph will come for you next.”
“She wouldn’t dare. She knows not to mess around with my livelihood in my hands.”
She glanced at him. “You’re not working tonight, right?”
“No,” said Zuko, nudging her back. “I have gotten a lot of good pictures, though.”
Katara tucked herself further into his side, and Zuko did his best to react normally. Whenever she was this close, he could smell the scents clinging to her hair. Something floral, and sugary, mixed with the salt of the sea.
“And the photos of Toph pushing our faces in the snow? What about those?”
Zuko pretended to think. “Good for blackmail, probably.”
Katara grinned, eyes dancing, though it faded when her gaze fell on his hands. “Zuko,” she chastised, fumbling in her bag for something—an extra pair of gloves—and shoving them at him. “You can still take pictures with those on, you know. I know you’re like, freakishly warm, but it’s way too cold for you to be without today.”
“Thanks,” said Zuko, slipping them on with a small smile.
Their planned weekend night together was as follows: return to Sokka and Suki’s flat to warm up and make pizza; consume said pizza before heading out for an activity, with the consensus about said activity tonight already having arrived at pub crawling. Zuko was pouring himself a glass of plain apple juice in the kitchen, his gaze darting regularly to Katara rolling out dough on the counter and smacking Sokka whenever he tried to eat some, when Suki sidled up to him, took his arm, and abruptly pulled him out to the entryway of the flat.
Zuko, who knew exactly what was coming, took a long, casual drink of his juice as if he did not.
“So,” said Suki, leaning back against the wall, “you haven’t told her.”
It wasn’t a question. Zuko grimaced and took another drink, feeling heat rush to his face.
“Yes, I thought so,” hummed Suki, shaking her head. “Come on, Zuko. How many months has it been?”
“Uh…”
“Six,” answered Suki grimly. “It’s been six. And that’s only since I figured it out.”
They had similar variations of this conversation every couple of weeks. Suki was the only one observant enough in the group to have noted what had been eating at him for so long. “You’re a horrible liar,” she’d told him then, when he’d said he wasn’t in love with Katara. And she’d merely looked at him with an affectionate sort of exasperation. Much the same way as she was now.
“I can’t just—it has to be the right, um…moment,” Zuko finished, rather lamely.
Suki raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Excuses, excuses. You said you would do it this weekend, Zuko.”
She was right, of course. But every time Zuko thought about telling Katara his feelings, his resolve faltered. It was terrifying; he could lose the friendship. Sometimes he thought the risk was worth it. The longing was becoming almost physically unbearable. But then he imagined awkwardness, and unreturned text messages, and fading apart because the feelings weren’t mutual.
Suki sighed, took his shoulders, squared them, and pushed him back into the kitchen.
Katara glanced up over the dough she was now lathering with tomato sauce when they entered. Zuko fought the urge to scowl at Suki as she weaved back over and began cutting bell peppers beside Sokka, especially when she gave him a significant look and jerked her head toward the balcony. Right. Ask Katara to talk to him on the balcony. Easy.
Confess undying love. Super easy.
He cleared his throat.
“Ow!” The knife dropped to the cutting board with a clang, and Katara yanked her hand back, peering at her finger with pursed lips. Everyone descended upon her immediately, but when only a prick of blood appeared and Katara didn’t begin to scream, the collective mood of the room relaxed in the knowledge that she hadn’t chopped off a finger. “Stupid,” Katara muttered. “I cook all the time and I never cut myself.”
“Band-Aids are in the bathroom,” said Suki. “Zuko can help you!”
She winked conspiratorially at Zuko as he followed Katara from the kitchen, and this time he did scowl at her.
“You don’t have to help me,” Katara said once they were in the hall, looking almost flustered. “It’s just a little cut.”
“But what other chance will I get to snoop through Sokka and Suki’s medicine cabinet?”
Katara giggled and then pretended to gag. “You know what, that just made me change my mind. I don’t need a Band-Aid. I don’t want to see what those two are keeping in there.”
“Well, then I’ll do the brave work of searching through so you don’t have to.”
Katara smiled at him and sat on the edge of the bathtub as he sifted through the cabinet. The Band-Aids were easily accessible, and when he’d found the right size he sat beside Katara and gestured for her hand. She held it out and said nothing as he very carefully wrapped the nick on her finger, head bowed over her hand. “There. All better,” he said, straightening a little and glancing up at her.
His mouth went dry. Her face was closer than he’d realized. And there was this expression she had, something he thought he might have seen before in more fleeting instances, something soft and almost thoughtful. Her lashes fluttered and she watched him without moving, and Zuko no longer cared that he was sitting under a cheap fluorescent light in a cramped bathroom, on the hard edge of a tub. He tried desperately to unscramble his brain and speak. It didn’t work, so instead he reached out and carefully dusted a smudge of lingering flour off her cheek.
Katara gave him a small, shy smile. “Thanks.”
She still didn’t move from the tub. Or look away.
Hope warmed Zuko’s chest. He’d had times like this before, where he thought maybe the interest wasn’t only on his side. Historically speaking, his incessant self-doubt would start to creep up in less than thirty seconds, so it was best to act now.
“Um,” he began, blinking rapidly. Had she tilted her chin up, just a little?
Surely not.
He couldn’t concentrate. The bathroom was suddenly very hot. “So,” he stuttered, “Uh, um—”
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Every time Sokka and Suki’s doorbell rang it about gave Zuko a heart attack. It was an old building, and the bell was one of those ancient, far-louder-than-necessary buzzers that grated the ears and probably caused mild damage.
Zuko cursed, and Katara also jumped, nearly slipping off the edge of the tub as she scrambled to her feet, frowning in confusion. They exited the bathroom and found Sokka rummaging in his wallet by the front door.
“Wait. Did you also order pizza?” Katara asked, sounding quite offended.
Sokka just threw her a slightly guilty look. “One can never have too much pizza, right?”
After dinner there was a long, tedious bundling session while everyone wrapped themselves in thick coats, gloves, and scarves. Once everyone was appropriately protected against the elements, they left the building and stepped onto the street, which was still slowly filling with freshly falling snow. Flakes continued to drift lazily down from the sky, clinging to cheeks and hair.
Aang stuck out his tongue and began twirling in circles, trying to catch some. Zuko’s camera bag was on his shoulder, but he didn’t take it out again until they’d arrived at the pub, crowding into the familiar table.
“Okay,” said Sokka, smacking his palms on the table, eyes lit up with competitive fervor. “It’s time, team.”
Katara scooted closer to Zuko. Her warm side molded against his made him squirm, and Suki caught his eye, her mouth twitching.
If she kept this up a permanent scowl would be etched on Zuko's face.
This particular pub was one they visited often, because Sokka liked winning trivia night. He really liked winning trivia night.
Zuko occasionally took pictures of his friends caught up in the spirited competition, and the main source of frustration quickly became a table across the room, a group of men in tweed jackets and matching smirks. Sokka threw them regular glares whenever they answered a question right, which was most of the time. By the final round, they were tied with them.
As they waited for the final question, Zuko flipped back to his latest picture, one of Sokka leaning over the table, arms spread wide, a frantic look on his face as they all tried to come up with the answer.
His eyes bulged, and the lighting of the photo made him appear even more alarming. Zuko started to laugh.
“Let me see.” Katara scooted even closer and leaned into him to peer at his camera screen. Her head was tucked under his chin. It was desperately unfair how good her hair smelled. “Oh my god. Sokka, you look…deranged.”
“Accurate description,” said Toph, taking a sip of her hard cider. “And I’ve never even seen him.” Her ear twitched and she suddenly aimed a swat at Aang, who had been trying to swipe an onion ring from her plate. Aang grinned and tugged teasingly on her hair, and Toph swatted at him again, her cheeks filling with color. “Here,” she said gruffly, shoving one into Aang’s hands. “Since you won’t stop stealing them."
“Oh, please let me see,” Suki asked, reaching across the table for Zuko’s camera.
Katara plucked it from him and showed it to her, and Suki burst into giggles.
“Hey!” Sokka pouted, also craning his neck to look as the others passed it around and laughed.
The rest of the table was pleased when they ended up winning the trivia, but none were as thrilled to win as Sokka, who snatched the voucher for a round of drinks on the house with his chest puffed out. As he babbled to Suki about the details behind his latest answer, Aang hopped cheerfully out of the booth to retrieve the drinks.
Katara leaned over again and muttered to Zuko, “Sokka is going to be unbearable about this for the next few hours.”
“Good thing we get those free drinks, then,” he replied, under his breath, and she snorted.
She scooted even closer, the outside of her thigh aligned with his.
Throughout the night, Katara stayed curled into his side. It wasn’t until they were deciding which pub to hit next when she slid out of the booth. “I’m going to have a shot at the bar before we go,” she said.
“Zuko, don’t you want one too?” Suki had a mischievous smile on her face.
Katara nodded and beamed and waved Zuko after her, and as he scooted out to follow, he leaned down and growled into Suki’s ear, “Start being more subtle, or I will murder you.”
He heard her stifle a laugh, but he was already moving behind Katara to the bar.
Katara ordered, and as the bartender began preparing the shots she turned to face Zuko.
“How’s your finger?” he asked, probably the stupidest question he possibly could have asked.
“Fine.” She showed him her Band-Aid, eyes twinkling. “You’re a very good bandager.”
“Thanks. I have certifications.”
Katara laughed. “Yeah? I’ll think I’ll need to see them, though. Just to confirm."
Her tone was low, suggestive. She leaned in when she spoke. Was she flirting? Ugh, he was so hopeless.
Zuko cleared his throat, feeling almost dazed. It wasn’t the alcohol. “So, Katara, uh, after this, there’s something—”
“This guy bothering you?”
Zuko blinked as his eyes sought out the source of the voice. A tall, somewhat burly man with a square jaw was speaking to Katara, inching slowly forward as if hoping to edge Zuko out of the physical space. Zuko glared and turned his head slightly, an automatic habit after years spent trying to make the scar on his face less… obvious. He knew it sometimes gave people the impression that he was gruff or unfriendly or even dangerous, particularly because he tended to wear all black and didn’t smile much.
But anyone with eyes could also see that he hadn’t been harassing Katara. Asshole.
“What about this makes you think he’s bothering me?” Katara snapped, clearly annoyed.
The bartender set down their shots as the man shuffled off. They only had time to take the shots and set them down, gasping against the burn in their chests, before Toph was there, reaching for them both and pulling them toward the door, as everyone else was ready to move on to the next pub. Zuko silently seethed about his second interruption with Katara and the manner in which it had come about, trying to ignore the aching, gnawing feeling of low self-worth and self-consciousness about his appearance that it brought.
His irritation was so overwhelming that they were nearly to the next pub when he realized something that made him stop in his tracks.
“Oh, shit,” he said hoarsely.
The others turned. “What is it?” Katara asked, a worried crease appearing on her forehead as she strode back to him.
“My camera,” Zuko said. “I forgot my camera.”
All that money he’d saved for it. All those pictures already on it.
“Shit,” Zuko said again, which was quite mild, really, considering how he felt.
“We’ll help you find it,” Aang offered.
“No, no, you all go ahead,” Zuko mumbled. “Don’t let me keep you, I’ll just go back and grab it.”
“I’ll come too.” Katara hooked an arm through his. “We’ll catch up with you later,” she said to the others, who slowly nodded, each of them offering shoulder pats and condolences before departing the other direction, stumbling slightly, chins tucked down against the increasing flurry of snowflakes that blew in their faces. “I’m sure it’s still there,” Katara told him on the way, squeezing his arm. “Was it on the table?”
“I think so. Ugh, I’m so stupid,” he groaned.
“No. It happens,” said Katara. “We’ll find it, Zuko. Don’t worry.”
But when they arrived, their table was empty. His camera bag also was not at the bar, and when they asked the staff, they apologized and told them that no one had turned in a camera. Katara led him back out of the pub, and they stood on the snowy street, Zuko’s shoulders slumped.
“Well,” said Zuko dully. “This is just great.”
Katara surprised him by stepping forward and hugging him tightly. “I can lend you the money,” she said, her voice muffled into his chest. “For a new camera. And I can—”
“No,” said Zuko, pulling back and looking down at her. “But thank you. You’re the best.”
She gave him a sad smile. He must look more dejected than he thought. “Can’t I do something to help?”
Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to think too much about this right now or it will ruin the whole night. Let’s…go for a walk, or something. Take the long way to meet the others.”
Katara weaved her arm through his again and they set off down the street, eventually turning on a darkened side street and exiting on another, busier main street with twinkling lights. There was another park nearby, and that seemed to be Katara’s destination, for she was the one leading the way. Zuko just felt stupid. So, so stupid.
But as they slowed their pace upon entering the park, Katara halted, and frowned. Then she pointed at a figure.
“Isn’t that your camera bag?”
It was. Zuko recognized some of the pins he’d put on the side as decoration. It was undeniably his bag with his camera, slung over the shoulder of a man who had paused to lift his foot onto a park bench and tie his shoe. Now he straightened up and began strolling off through the park again. Zuko watched him go, curiously torn between muscles that didn’t seem to want to move and a boiling rage that wanted his muscles to promptly tackle the guy. But then Zuko jolted, and began hurrying after him. “Hey!” Zuko called. “Hey! You!”
The man stopped and turned, eyeing them suspiciously. “What?”
Katara spoke before he could, drawing herself up to full height, eyes flashing. “Give him back his camera!”
The man sneered, already turning away. “This is mine.”
Before Zuko could speak or react at all, Katara had launched forward, snatching for the bag, her teeth bared and her expression fierce. The man whirled on her quickly, his arm flying up and his fist curling.
Perhaps he’d been expecting it to be Zuko, because when he saw Katara and how she flinched back, he froze mid-punch.
He wavered for less than a second, then turned and punched Zuko in the face instead.
Zuko heard the crunch of the fist connecting with his cheek as well as Katara’s screech before he felt anything.
Then the pain tore through his face, and he let out a yell and a string of curse words that would probably have made Toph cackle with glee. Zuko staggered backward through the snow, clutching his cheek, but quickly recovered. Furious, he leaped forward and began wrestling violently over the camera bag. Both the thief and Zuko threw wild punches that missed. Katara was yanking at the man’s shoulders, trying to pull him off—
“What’s going on here?”
A bright light flared in their faces, so bright that Zuko shielded his eyes, tripping back again and into something warm and soft. Katara. She wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him close, stubbornly clenching her jaw at the newcomer.
It was a policewoman, with an expression of open disapproval and a flashlight held high.
“That man stole his camera,” said Katara, pointing at the thief.
“That’s ridiculous,” snapped the thief. “I was just walking in the park and they tried to steal my camera.”
The policewoman looked between them for a moment, weighing the situation. “Hand it over,” she said finally, and the thief reluctantly slid the bag over his shoulder and gave it to her, grumbling as he did so.
“What’s on here?” asked the policewoman as she turned the camera on.
“Pictures of...friends and stuff,” Zuko muttered, eyes darting significantly to Katara, who was still glaring at the thief.
The policewoman saw Zuko’s look, and then turned her attention downward, flicking through the pictures.
Zuko’s face burned. He knew what she was seeing.
Pictures of landscapes and his other friends, yes. But she would also see a disproportionate amount of Katara.
Katara smiling, Katara laughing, eyes bright; Katara moving fluidly in the snowball fight, Katara trying to wrestle Toph off her back as Toph gleefully shoved snow into her face. Katara walking through the snow, her gaze on the horizon, something thoughtful in them, the golden hue of the sun lightening the brown of her hair, making her face glow. Katara the way Zuko saw her.
The policewoman looked up. A small smile danced on her lips as she looked between Katara and Zuko. Zuko tried to beg her with his eyes not to comment, and thankfully, she just silently handed the camera over.
“Oh, this is bullshit,” snarled the thief, but they all ignored his complaint.
“Better go somewhere warm and get some ice on that cheek,” said the cop to Zuko. “Or it’s going to swell.” And then she turned and began writing a ticket to fine the thief, which Katara and Zuko took as their cue to leave, hearts pounding hard with both nerves and the exaltation of success. They quickly thanked her and hurried away.
As soon as they were on a busier street under a street lamp, Katara stopped him and took Zuko’s face in her hands to examine him, eyes wide with concern. “I’m so sorry, Zuko,” she said, biting her lip. “He really just wanted to punch me.”
“Good thing he didn’t,” said Zuko, as he gingerly reached up to touch the bruise he knew was forming on his face. “Ow.”
“Let’s go back to Sokka and Suki’s," Katara said. "It’s closest.”
“Okay.”
In less than ten minutes they were back, an ice pack on Zuko’s cheek and Katara having sent a text message to the others explaining what had happened. She sat on the couch facing him. “Why was the cop smiling like that?”
Zuko blinked. She was very close to him again. “I—what?”
“I don’t know,” said Katara. “It seemed like she thought something was funny.”
"She...she could tell..." He swallowed. Words didn't come, so he shifted to take the camera bag and handed it to her. Zuko flushed as she scrolled through, stomach twisting as he watched her face morph from surprise to that same soft look she’d had earlier.
When Katara finally looked up, her eyes were sparkling with tears. “How long?”
“A long time,” Zuko admitted, in a low rasp. Katara’s eyes searched his face, her lips parting. “I’ve been wanting to tell you..." His words died in his throat when she placed her palm at his face, cupping the side with his scar. “I didn't want to ruin what we already have. If you don’t—I mean, it's fine if—”
His words were suddenly stifled by her lips.
Katara's fingers traced his face and her mouth was soft, and warm, and Zuko wanted to drown in her. He wanted to kiss her harder and pull her closer, but he also wanted to cling to this exact moment and never move. And then Katara shifted, pressing kisses to the corner of his mouth, up along his jaw, very carefully over his injured cheek, and slowly around his scar. Zuko held very still, barely breathing.
Finally, Katara tilted her forehead against his and stared into his eyes, hands still carefully cupping his face.
Zuko opened his mouth and closed it again.
“I love you,” he said finally, hoarsely.
She pushed her fingers through his hair, smiling. “I love you, too.”
She picked up Zuko’s camera from her lap, held it up, and kissed him again, more fiercely this time.
Zuko heard the click of the button that indicated she’d taken a picture, but that was the only thing that registered outside of Katara; in his arms, climbing into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and sighing contentedly into his mouth.
He knew that when he looked at the picture later, he would be smiling against her lips.