aang/zuko "Maybe he was bitter and conditioned to expecting horrible things, but he was surprised when nothing ended up on fire."
Fire Lord Zuko’s life is one of struggle. He claws his way into the world, weak, barely breathing, nearly killing his mother. He fights for the love of a man who will never truly see his value. He is scarred. He is neglected. He is defined by drive rather than talent.
It is unfair, leaves a bitter taste on the boy prince’s tongue. He fights through his exile and he fights his way to the throne. And when he finally sits upon it, when he has defied all those who would doubt him, what does he find?
Crisis after crisis. More struggles; more hurts. He is Lord of a country which despises him, ambassador to a world which hates his country. He’s never been trained for this. He does not understand politics or courtroom decorum or military matters…
Zuko is lost. Zuko is exhausted. Zuko is alone.
He sits by the turtleduck pond, dark hair loose about his shoulders. It’s too hot for his formal robes; he’s too tired to go change. The still surface of the water reflects his face back to him. Dark bags rim his eyes. His face is more sallow than he remembers.
It’s a strange thing to say but he feels Aang’s presence before he hears him. The young man is still light on his feet even if he’s gawkier than ever. In the past few years he’s come into his height all at once. Aang is tall. There’s not enough weight on his frame to evenly distribute, leaving him looking lanky. He’s still moves with an effortless grace. A lopsided smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he searches the garden. It falters, only briefly, when he sees Zuko.
The Fire Lord raises one hand. The listless gesture is barely enough to pass for a wave. Aang leaps to his side, dropping into a crouch. It’s perhaps more dramatic than the situation merits. His friend’s hands settle on his shoulders, “Zuko! What’s wrong? Have you been sleeping? Are you eating? Are you ok…?” The endless stream of questions makes his head hurt and also...relaxes him. It’s a familiar ritual. Aang frowns at him, rocking back on his heels, “This isn’t funny! You look terrible.”
Zuko chuckles, “Good to see you too.”
Aang grumbles, sitting cross legged beside him. He counts the airbender among his closest friends even if he’s never really understood him. Aang is lightness; Aang is tactile. The young man regales him tales of his travels, absently plucking at his robes, Zuko’s hair, setting every supposed wrong to right. He’s in constant motion, unable to stay still until he finally does.
Aang looks at him, really looks at him, concern written across his features, “You haven’t told me how you’ve been. Zuko, is everything alright?”
He thinks about lying. His family...they don’t tell the truth. Not about their feelings. Zuko swallows, meets the young man’s eyes. There’s no judgement there. He won’t use this information to undermine or to hurt him. He’s genuinely curious, “It’s been...rough.”
“You’ve been alone, haven’t you?” Aang’s eyes are deep and soulful and feeling. He reaches out, clasping the Fire Lord’s hand between both of his own. It should be strange. It isn’t. “I’m sorry, Zuko. We should have stuck around longer. All of us. We’ve just been out…”
“Yeah,” the monk frowns. He glances around the garden. It’s silent. Zuko isn’t sure why. Maybe he’s bitter; maybe he’s been conditioned to expect horrible things. But he half expects everything to come crashing down around their ears. Someone will burst into the garden with a new crisis. Another assassin will drop down from the rafters. Something will ruin this.
But nothing happens. There’s only silence. Aang sighs, adjusting himself until they’re seated beside each other, shoulder to shoulder. The young man frowns, leaning his head against the Fire Lord. Zuko finds he doesn’t mind that either. Aang is a soothing presence. Aang smells like spring and fresh gusts of wind.
“Hey. What if I stayed at the palace for a while?” Aang nudges him in the ribs, smiling again. He’s grinning ear to ear and Zuko can’t help but return the expression. “You know? I can help with your work. Or... just. I dunno. Run errands. Do Fire Lord’s have errands?”
“Great! Then I’ll do those!” he nods sagely, as if the matter is decided. “What do you say, hot man?”
Zuko can’t find the words. It’s easier just to hug him.