Chapter Text
The first thing Zuko sees when he comes back from his meeting with management is his coworker’s infernal smile.
“Party’s tonight,” June says, spinning around in her chair. She’s sipping on a cup of Thai iced tea, kohl-rimmed eyes blinking up at Zuko in amusement.
“What party?”
“Don’t tell me you forgot.” June almost has the decency to look surprised—or annoyingly smug, depending on the slant of light through the windows. “Jee’s farewell party? All you can eat yakiniku at Gyu-Kaku?”
“Oh.” Zuko settles into his seat and pulls out his phone, scrolling through his calendar and cursing under his breath. He’s been looking forward to this particular weekend, especially since fall semester starts next week, and he’s just about done with his final report for his internship. “Oh shit.”
“You serious, dude?” June leans back. “Everyone’s going, even Piandao.”
“Besides—” she waggles her Thai iced tea between her delicately manicured fingers. “Zhao from accounting’s going to pay for everything.”
It’s cold and wet outside, and Zuko doesn’t want to go out tonight. But it’s Jee’s last day in the office, and that old man has always looked out for him ever since the first day of internship until now, so who was Zuko to refuse such an offer?
Not to mention the fact that Piandao’s going to be there. Piandao is nice, but he’s nice in that your-favorite-uncle-you-don’t-want-to-disappoint type of nice, and Zuko really, really doesn’t like letting his mentor down. And if Zhao’s paying for everything—Zuko’s not going to say no to a free meal and the open bar. More oolong hai for me, I guess. And gyūtan. Definitely extra gyūtan.
“Of course I’m going,” he says, tossing his phone on his desk and reaching up to loosen his tie so he can take a proper breath.
“Nice, kid.” June smirks.
Zuko places a well-aimed kick to the back of June’s chair, grinning at the angry yelp of surprise as his coworker rolls away, heels flailing as she struggles to retaliate with a kick of her own.
He continues working for a bit, catching up on some emails and skimming a spreadsheet or two, the sort of stuff any marketing intern would be doing at a publishing company. Zuko’s already gotten the return offer to come back to Shu Jing after graduation, and he hopes he’ll be promoted to something other than doing social media research and creating meaningless slide decks that none of the executives actually pay attention to during their weekly meetings.
When the clock strikes six and June comes around to his desk, coat over one arm and bag slung over her back, Zuko finally gets ready to leave. He cracks his back, shrugs on his coat, and follows the gaggle of his coworkers out the door and into the elevator. It’s the weekend now. Corporate can go suck it for the next two days.
The yakiniku shop is rowdy and full when they finally make it up the steps. Smoke clings to Zuko’s clothes as soon as he walks in, and he belatedly regrets wearing his nicest suit today. But sitting here, sandwiched between June and some other older woman whose name he never bothered to remember, it didn’t really seem to matter anymore.
The woman turns to him and smiles. “What do you want to drink, sweetie?”
“Could I get a yuzushu, please?” Zuko asks. I am twenty-two years old, I am not a sweetie, he wants to say, but his face—your baby face, Azula likes to call it—is enough to get him coddled by all the aunties and carded at virtually every place he goes to.
“Sure thing, honey!” Honey isn’t much better.
“So,” June begins when the platters of meat appear on the table, picking up slices of tripe and tongue and laying them down on the grill. “Classes start next week, right?”
“Yup.” Zuko’s yuzushu arrives and he downs it in two gulps, sharp citrus seeping into his senses. “Hopefully it’ll be interesting.”
“Senior year’s always interesting.” June whistles, twirling a blade of fresh shiso in one hand as she expertly maneuvers each slice of meat on the grill with a pair of tongs. “I hope you’re excited.”
“Only if senioritis doesn’t kill me first.”
“Sure, sure.” June picks up a freshly seared slice of tongue with the tongs and bows exaggeratedly. “An offering to you, my child.”
“I’m not that much younger than you,” Zuko protests. He squeezes a bit of lemon over the meat before eating it in one bite. The beef is smooth and luxurious in his mouth, with just enough acidity to cut through the fattiness.
“And yet you work twice as hard.” June flips a piece of tripe over. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come to the office later than me.”
“I just like being on time, that’s all.” Zuko balances his chopsticks on his plate. Punctuality has always been his strong suit—along with the many literal suits he owns—and it reflects on his work ethic, even as a low-level intern in the company. He wonders how someone like June—June, who habitually arrives at the office right before lunch break—hasn’t been fired yet.
“Oh, hush.” June places another slice of tongue on the grill. “I know for a fact that you interns don’t have that much to do besides spreadsheets and presentations. Plus, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at the company-sponsored happy hours before.”
“Again. I was busy.”
“Guess we got ourselves a textbook case of a workaholic.”
Zuko shrugs.
“Well, you know what they say: all work and no play makes Zuko a dull boy.” June shakes the tongs in his direction.
“I don’t think that’s how the proverb goes.”
June just laughs as she piles more meat on the grill, fat dripping through the slats and sizzling in the fire below. The vegetables come next—a foil pouch of mushrooms with butter, a handful of cabbage, sliced carrots and onions—soaking up the flavors of tenderloin and skirt steak. Zuko orders a bowl of rice, dips his gyūtan in tare and drips the extra sauce over his bowl, the rice soaking up sweet, fat, salt.
There’s round after round of toasts, sake flowing freely from table to table as people get up to wish Jee a bright and happy future, some crying, some laughing, others whispering about how glad they are that the terror of the sales department is finally making his graceful exit from the cutthroat world of children’s publishing.
June holds up her whiskey highball. “To Jee,” she says solemnly.
“To Jee.” Zuko raises his newly-acquired oolong hai in agreement.
Clink.
“Bet he’s glad to be gone,” June murmurs. “Retirement. Can you imagine?”
“Nope.” Retirement seems so far away. Zuko takes a sip of his oolong hai. “I thought he said he wanted to work with kids or something.”
“Jee’s going to be spending time with his grandchildren in Japan,” the lady sitting next to Zuko says fondly. “I heard he wants to pick up painting.”
Zuko nods. The oolong hai is lazily making its way throughout his body, roasted molasses in his veins that give him a pleasant buzz. He wonders what it’d be like to be out in the countryside teaching children how to paint, paper cups of rainbow-stained water and flecks of color glittering from the tatami. They’d probably paint something like flowers or mountains, something bright and cheerful.
“I didn’t know you wanted to be a teacher,” June says, and Zuko realizes that in his oolong-hai-stupor, his thoughts have escaped from his mind and out his mouth.
“I don’t.” Zuko drinks the rest of his oolong hai. “I’m not good at teaching.”
“Aw, c’mon!” June pats him on the back. “I’m sure you aren’t that bad. Didn’t you say that you, like, TA’d for a class last year? Or was that someone else?”
“Oh, I did, but it wasn’t really a TA thing, actually,” Zuko replies, because he didn’t actually TA for the class so much as grade a bunch of questionably-written lit reviews and cover letters, wondering how the students even got into the University of Boiling Rock in the first place.
June picks up a bottle of sake and reaches for Zuko’s cup. A few drops of liquid make it in before she lolls sideways and collides with Zuko’s shoulder. “I think you’d make a great teacher.”
Zuko wobbles.
“I—I—” and maybe it’s the oolong hai or the sake or the damn yuzushu from earlier, because fruity drinks can be so disarmingly dangerous if you’ve had a few without realizing it, “—I’m not a good teacher, okay? I hate teaching.”
“Awww,” June slurs, waggling a finger in Zuko’s face. “Don’t say that so quickly. I bet that’s gonna come back ‘n bite you in the ass or something.”
“You wish.” Zuko slams his cup into the table, drops of sake raining everywhere. Someone’s hollering for another toast again—half the office is standing up, a swathe of grass swaying unsteadily in the smoky breeze, raising their glasses in the air in unison—Zuko picks up his cup of sake and joins them.
“To Jee. May he live forever and paint lovely pictures of frogs with his granddaughter and eat lots of delicious food,” Piandao says gravely. He almost looks like he’s on the verge of tears. “We wish you all the best.”
There’s a murmur of approval across the crowd.
“To Jee!”
Zuko drinks his entire cup in one gulp, wiping his lips with his shirtsleeve. The buzz in his ears is nice and comforting, a steady hum that vibrates from the top of his head to his toes.
══════════════════
Zuko walks through the doors into FILM 482 and does a double take.
“Hey, handsome.”
“Mai?”
“The one and only.”
Zuko feels like he hasn’t seen Mai in forever. The last time they were in class together was Professor Lo’s introduction to Shakespeare class two years ago, back when Zuko was still in the throes of his gen ed requirements and Mai was trying to figure out if she wanted to study communication or comp lit. They fell in love during Macbeth, broke up in Twelfth Night, and became great friends by the time King Lear rolled around. All in all, not bad for a single class’s work.
“What’re you doing here?” Zuko slides into the seat next to hers.
“Probably the same thing you’re here for.” Mai pulls her hair up and sticks a pen into her makeshift bun. Her nails are red, a pretty crimson contrasting with the velvet-black lipstick she’s chosen today.
“Elective,” they say simultaneously.
“Yup.” Mai nods her head gravely. “It was either this or modernist poetry.”
Zuko hums in agreement. He can’t really see his ex-turned-best-friend sitting in a modernist poetry class even though the material is right up her alley, all sharp, grayscale writing with the existentialism to boot.
“Yikes,” a familiar voice echoes from across the room.
Zuko looks up to see Jet sauntering into the room, slouching into the nearest chair. He’s chewing on a pen. Zuko wonders how long it’ll take for him to end up with a mouthful of sticky ink.
“What’re you doing—”
“Core requirement.” Jet rolls his eyes. “Thought watching movies sounded fun, so here I am.”
Zuko winces. Even public policy majors aren’t let off the hook with UBR’s hefty list of requirements for graduation.
A few more people wander into class—Zuko recognizes Teo from anthropology and a pretty girl whose name he doesn’t remember—filling up seats in the tiny seminar room before the professor themselves shows up, an elderly woman who strides into the room with her lips pursed and her forehead creased. She reminds Zuko of his scary grand-aunt that always comments on his lack of a girlfriend when he goes home for holidays.
“Welcome to FILM 482: Science Fiction Through the Ages,” the professor says without preamble. “If you think you’re not going to be able to put in the work for this class, I suggest that you drop it now.”
With those words, the professor sits down at the head of the room and pulls out a pair of spectacles. They make her look ten times more menacing when she puts them on.
A hush falls over the room, several students grimacing, others looking like they’re trying not to cry. Zuko’s had his fair share of cantankerous and odd professors over the years, but this professor definitely takes the prize for “most intimidating syllabus class”.
The professor looks up, arching her eyebrows. “Oh? So none of you left.”
Silence.
“Very well.” She pulls out a binder. “Some introductions might be underway, yes? My name is Professor Wu. You may refer to me as Professor Wu, Dr. Wu—just professor is fine as well. If we’d like to go around and introduce ourselves? Perhaps name, major, and why you’re here?”
She points to Jet. “And please. Before you start, remove that pen from your mouth.”
Jet reluctantly drops his pen on the table. “Wassup. Name’s Jet, senior studying public policy, and I’m here because—”
Crash.
The door slams open.
Everyone turns to look. Professor Wu scowls like someone’s just interrupted the most important thing in her life.
There’s a guy standing in the doorway, panting ever-so-slightly in a sky-blue hoodie and dark joggers, a skateboard tucked under one arm. He’s tall, with curly gray hair tied in a ponytail, a stark contrast to his dark undercut. That’s the first thing that catches Zuko’s eye: a damn flyaway strand of silver tucked behind the guy’s platinum-studded ear, a pair of glasses perched on his nose.
The guy murmurs apologies as he scoots past the students sitting near the door, falling into the only open seat available—the one right across from Zuko.
Oh, he’s cute.
That’s the moment when Zuko knows he’s in trouble.
A delicate cough. Professor Wu looks none too pleased at this development.
“Late for class, and on the first day?” She clicks her tongue in that disapproving-auntie way. “Since you’ve decided to humbly grace us with your presence, how about you introduce yourself next?”
“Oh, sure!” the guy says. Zuko is instantly struck by the gravelly timbre of his voice. It’s low and rumbling, a fast-flowing river of phonetics that washes over his skin. Zuko ventures a peek—a small glance, really—at the guy, at his rugged jawline, his constellation of freckles against baby-blue eyes, his wobbly smile that reminds Zuko of the beluga whales he saw that one time he went whale-watching in Quebec with Azula.
He’s a little more than cute, isn’t he?
(Shut up.)
Then Beluga Boy—no, the guy—no, Beluga Boy—flashes him a quick smile, all warm and carefree. If Zuko wasn’t already sitting in his chair—well, he’d probably already be on the ground, heart quaking as he wonders why someone he doesn’t even know is affecting him this much.
He almost forgets to introduce himself to the class until Mai not-so-subtly jabs him in the ribs. Zuko stammers something along the lines of “I’m Zuko, English major, really enjoy poetry” (and not the view, something he had to bite back) before hunching back in his seat, blood rushing to his eartips.
He can’t get Beluga Boy’s wobbly smile out of his mind. For the first time in his life, Zuko is utterly distracted in class. A noteworthy feat, considering the fact that he’s made it through introductory comp lit and that hellish Shakespeare class, two courses notorious for their monotonous professors and overall bland material. He’s always been on top of his game, ready with his carefully highlighted notes and neatly-packed bullet point lists—until now.
Zuko almost misses Professor Wu’s dismissal until Mai slaps him.
“Ow!” He rubs his shoulder. “What was that for?”
“C’mon, class is over.” Mai’s already packed up her bag. “Do you want to get lunch?”
“Lunch sounds—” and Zuko trails off, head whipping around to see a flash of gray ducking out of the classroom. Beluga Boy is nowhere to be found.
For a moment, a thorn of regret lodges in his chest.
Damn. And I didn’t even get Beluga Boy’s real name.
“Who’s Beluga Boy?” Mai’s voice cuts through Zuko’s thoughts.
“Oh! Oh, uh,” Zuko stammers, internally cursing his inner thoughts making their way to the surface. “Beluga Boy is… he just is…”
“Oh, you’re helpless.” Mai shakes her head. “Just tell me who you’re talking about. C’mon, I want to know.”
Zuko slides his laptop into his backpack and stands up, joints cracking slightly at the sudden movement. “The guy that was sitting across from me. You know, the one with the gray hair and—”
“Sokka.”
“—the skateboard—huh?”
“His name.” Mai pulls on her coat as they leave the room. “His name is Sokka.”
She pauses. “Never say Beluga Boy in front of me ever again.”
Sokka, huh.
Mai catches him grinning like an idiot, and she rolls her eyes ruefully before dragging Zuko to a table inside the dining café. They open up their styrofoam containers, the smell of spices wafting into the air. Zuko goes quiet, mixing his white and hot sauces into his rice. He likes how the red and the white bleed together into a pale orange-pink, punctuated by fragrant cubes of chicken and rice.
“Got a question for you,” Mai says as she stabs a piece of chicken with deadly aim.
“Shoot.”
“Professor Hong’s wondering when you’ll come back to TA for her class.”
“You mean the intro to cinema studies class?”
“Yeah.” Mai nods. “She says you get great evals. Students really like you.”
“Nah, you’re joking, right?” Zuko yawns.
TA’ing for intro cinema studies is pretty easy, except for the fact that half of his recitation class usually ends up having an unhealthy obsession with his scar and shipping him with random K-pop idols whose songs he’s never even heard of. Whatever the case, he doesn’t have time now to TA for classes unless there’s a good enough reason to get involved.
“Nah, she was serious.”
“Well, you know me.” Zuko gestures vaguely with his fork. “I’m not exactly the most teacher-y of teachers. Plus, freshmen are dumb. They sign up for classes ‘cause they sound easy and then they’re really not. I can’t babysit a group of toddlers.”
“They’re not toddlers. They’re students.”
“Meh. Same difference.”
“Sounds like you dodged a bullet.” Mai stirs her chicken idly. “So. Where were we earlier?”
“Sokka?” Zuko says when he scrapes up the last grains of rice onto his fork. He contemplates asking Mai about what he missed in class, if there was anything on the syllabus that Professor Wu went over, if there was anything interesting about Sokka—
“He’s an applied mathematics major minoring in computer science,” Mai rattles off from memory. “Also a senior, and he’s taking this class because, and I quote, ‘movies are interesting and I enjoy movies’.” She punctuates the last part with air quotes.
“Sounds interesting.”
“Sounds like someone’s interested.” Mai raises an eyebrow.
Zuko glares at her.
Mai shrugs. “You aren’t denying it.”
“Ugh, just leave me alone.”
“As your ex-now-best-friend, I only have your best interests in my heart,” Mai says solemnly. “And I can tell that you want to go for it.”
“So?”
“So? Go for it.” Mai pops open her can of ginger ale. “Go talk to him. Make friends. Who knows? Maybe he’s interested, too.”
“Yeah, right,” Zuko says, but the thought of Sokka talking to him is enough for his cheeks to warm ever so slightly.
“Agni, you’ve already got it bad,” Mai says over a forkful of fish over rice.
Zuko flips her off under the table.
══════════════════
POCKY BOY
Hey are you busy tn?
ohoho
he doth speaketh
…
ok fine
lol
i’m free
whaddaya want
Have you played MJ before?
mj?
michael jackson?
zuko what the fuck
u kno i suck at singing
Mahjong, dumbass
oh oh
oh yeah
oh yeah ofc lmao yeah
i’m rly good at it
club champ in high school
wait why
Do you want to come and play mahjong?
It’ll be me, my sister, and her girlfriend
We’re missing a player.
oooooooooooh
oooooooooooH
i’m interested
Fucking
Give me a straight answer.
alright alright yeah i’m good
rly good
yeah i’ll come
i’ll finally get to meet azula
oooooooooooooh
Oh no
Absolutely not.
Don’t you DARE hit on her.
I literally JUST told you she has a girlfriend
bro wtf u kno me
haru would KILL me if i did that
holy shit
wait
can
can haru come
pls
owo
Did you just
Did you just “owo” me.
maybe? owo
hello???
… My sister says the more the merrier I guess your boyfriend can come too
SWEET
C U THEN
TXT ME THE ADDRESS
U WON’T REGRET IT
Pretty sure I’m gonna regret it
TRUST ME BB
C U SOON
;)
══════════════════
“Ta-da!” Jet beams over his winning tiles as he does a spectacular rendition of jazz hands.
“I don’t trust you,” Zuko says.
“Same,” Haru pipes up. “And I’m dating you.”
“Ouch.” Jet winces.
They’re sitting in Azula’s living room, all huddled around a table teeming with jade-and-white tiles. The air ripples with tension, Azula glaring angrily at her tiles as Yue reaches out and pats her arm comfortingly.
“Fuck you,” Azula hisses at Jet. “Seriously though. Fuck. You.”
“Too bad.” Jet shrugs. He cracks a sunflower seed between his teeth and spits out the shell. “Sucks to suck, bro.”
The tension thickens to the consistency of congee.
Yue claps her hands together. “How about another round? Or maybe a round of shots? We have more soju in the fridge, if you’d like. And butter mochi. Azula’s a fantastic baker—aren’t you, babe?”
This last sentence is punctuated with a smile and a side-hug. Zuko feels the tension ebbing away from the room when Azula leans on her girlfriend’s shoulder.
“I’m down for another round!” Haru pipes up. “Actually, could I get some soju first?”
“Of course,” Yue replies, untangling herself from Azula’s grasp and heading towards the kitchen. “Would you mind helping me with the mochi?”
“Oh, for sure. I love mochi,” Haru says. The two of them disappear into the kitchen, and then it’s just Zuko, Jet, and Azula sitting at the table.
“So. How’re things going between you and Zuko?” Azula asks Jet, legs crossed as she folds her tiles facedown and prepares to shuffle. “I’ve been trying to matchmake him my entire life, and somehow he never told me he was going out with—”
Jet smirks. “Well, you see—”
“Azula,” Zuko says through gritted teeth. “Jet’s my classmate. Haru’s his boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Azula purses her lips.
Yikes. Zuko’s utterly mortified. He’s been playing fifth wheel to two bicycles this entire night, and he’d rather not dwell on the fact that he’s painfully single-and-ready-to-mingle, as Jet likes to put it.
“Look, Azula,” Jet says, shaking his head. “I’ve been trying to hook your brother up with someone for the past year, and it’s literally impossible.”
“And I’ve been trying to do the same thing for the past twenty years,” Azula replies exasperatedly. “I really, really thought that Mai would be the one.”
“Same here. They looked perfect together.”
The two of them exchange solemn nods, colleagues commiserating on the battlefield of overcoming the odds to successfully set Zuko up with someone.
“Did I ever say I was lonely?” Zuko cuts in.
Azula sighs dramatically. “You don’t need to say it, Zuzu. Everyone can see it. You’re lonely and want company and we just want to help you out.”
“Yeah, what she said,” Jet says.
Zuko wrinkles his nose. No one can forget the awkward Lunar New Year party where Aunt Meili tried to set him up with her best friend’s coworker’s daughter with one blurry iPhone picture as proof and a future physician’s salary as a dowry. He still hasn’t talked to his aunt since then.
Jet breaks the silence. “Maybe we’re just looking in the wrong places.”
“Huh.” Azula folds her arms. “Maybe we are.”
“Hello?” Zuko waves a hand in both of their faces. “Zuko here? Wondering why you’re talking about me like I’m not here or something?”
“Aw, brother dear,” Azula replies. “We’re just trying to figure out how to find someone perfect for you—”
She hesitates, voice trailing off as her eyes narrow in concentration.
“Wait a second, you can’t—” Zuko starts, only to receive a sharp fingernail to his lips as a reply.
“Hush. I’m thinking.”
There are only three things that Zuko fears most in the world: spiders, clowns, and his sister, especially when she’s thinking. He really doesn’t want to know why Azula has that certain light in her eyes, the one that screams “SHE’S GOT AN IDEA AND IT’S A TERRIBLE ONE!” in fluorescent orange, warning everyone to stay away or else.
Zuko lets out a sigh. He resigns himself to his fate. And his sister’s whims, whatever those end up being.
“Zuzu?” Azula singsongs. “I think I might have just the thing for you.”
“Oh, no.” Zuko looks around. Jet’s still sitting there, leering as he cracks sunflower seed after sunflower seed. Yue and Haru have just returned from the kitchen with bottles of soju and a plate of golden butter mochi between them. Perfect timing for his inevitable breakdown or Azula’s riveting revelation, whichever comes first.
Haru hands a bottle of soju to his boyfriend before taking one for himself. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing—”
“Zuko’s love life,” Azula and Jet chime in unison.
“Ugh.”
“Is there something going on with you, Zuko?” Yue hands him a square of butter mochi.
Zuko grumbles as he takes a bite. He wishes that Azula would just let the whole thing drop, but knowing his sister and her tendency to hold grudges—she still constantly reminds him about the one time that he accidentally left her at the turtleduck pond fifteen years ago—he knows she won’t let this go at all.
“Oh, I just thought up a funny thing that happened, actually.” Azula settles back in her seat, pulling Yue into her lap. “So, I was checking out books for poli sci with Ty Lee this morning, when I turn the corner to go to the café, and who do I see?”
“Who?”
“Obviously the perfect guy for my dear brother.”
Azula slaps Zuko on the back. He almost chokes on his mochi.
“Tall, cute, with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.” Azula continues. “Exactly the kind of guy you’d go for, Zuzu.”
How the fuck did she know I like blue eyes? Zuko takes a sip of soju to flush down the crumbs trapped in his throat. “Excuse me—”
“So, naturally, I decided to do some reconnaissance, just to get a lay of the land, see if he’s looking for someone, if he’s interested, that kind of thing—”
“You mean, you went up to the guy, chatted him up, and tried to get me laid.”
“Don’t be so crude, Zuzu,” Azula feigns a gasp. “Of course I made sure that he’s actually single—”
“And?”
“And I might have told him that I have a brother who is also very single and very ready to mingle—”
“Azula Lei—”
“But then he was like, ‘I don’t think I’m cut out for the dating thing’,” Azula air-quotes. “Also. He said he was pretty bad at doing stuff, if you know what I mean.”
Zuko glares at her. “No, I don’t know what you mean.”
“I told him that you wouldn’t mind.”
“Mind what?”
“The fact that he’s bad at sex?”
“What?”
Zuko actually chokes this time.
He coughs and hacks, fingers flying as he scrambles to grab his soju to wash it down. The alcohol stings. A few things happen all at once: first, Zuko drops his bottle of soju on the floor, spilling soju everywhere. Next, he falls to the floor in a combination of confusion and choking, executive function lost as his body fights to regain basic homeostasis. Finally—by the miracle of Agni’s right pectoral or something similar—Haru and Jet actually manage to pull him back into his chair, Yue following with a fresh cup of water.
“Careful now.” Azula comes over and begins to pound circles in his back. “I’m not actually certified in CPR.”
Zuko continues coughing, the burn of backwards crumbs aching in his throat as he finally sucks in a lungful of fresh air. He waits for a moment to actually catch his breath, wincing at the burn in his throat, desperately wishing for brain bleach to wipe out the last thirty seconds of his life.
The first thing he does is to grab his sister by the collar of her shirt, wrenching her down to eye-level. “Azula, you can’t be serious.”
“What?” Azula actually manages to look somewhat remorseful. “About the sex thing?”
“Did he actually say that?” Yue asks incredulously.
Azula is absolutely shameless. “Kinda? Not really? It was implied. And I’m pretty good at reading between the lines.”
Haru shakes his head. “That’s terrible.”
“Dude, who says that kinda thing in public?” Jet grimaces.
“The kind of person who gets interrogated by my very horrible, terrible, and no-good sister,” Zuko manages to croak out as he continues to wash the taste of mochi out of his trachea. He waves a finger in Azula’s general direction, the kind that signals you’re in trouble. “Could y’all give us a minute alone, please?”
“Sure.” Yue nods. She drags Jet into the kitchen with Haru following closely behind, the door closing behind them.
“Azula.” Zuko grabs her shoulders and shakes her. “Look, I appreciate you looking out for me. But you can’t just harass a random guy like that because I’m single. That’s totally not cool.”
“I did apologize to him, okay?” Azula twists out of his grasp. “I said sorry. After he said that. But then he said it was fine, so I thought it was fine, and was it really that bad? I promise I won’t do that again, okay?”
She bites her lip. “Are you mad at me?”
Zuko sighs. As much as Azula annoys the fuck out of him, she’s also his little sister, the one who’s gone through thick and thin with him all these years. He’s already resigned himself to a lifetime of covering her ass while she covers his when shit hits the fan. This time isn’t all that different.
“No, I’m fine, xiaomei.”
He bops her head.
“Ow!”
“But you can’t do that again, okay?”
“Fine.” Azula rubs her head ruefully. “I won’t. Sorry I got you involved.”
Zuko can’t stay mad at her for too long. “It’s all good.”
“There’s something else, actually.”
Oh, boy. Maybe he can stay mad at her. “What now?”
“Promise me you won’t be mad?”
“So.” Zuko inhales, bracing himself for the worst. “What did you do now?”
“I, uh—” Azula begins, which is never a good sign. “I—”
“C’mon now, spit it out.”
“—I might’ve given him your number?”
“Excuse me?” Zuko’s brain combusts. He can’t even manage to bop her head this time.
“What?” Azula retorts. “He was still interested, so I gave it to him. You could check your phone, if you want.”
“Oh, fuck no.”
“It’s just a phone, Zuzu. C’mon. Go check.”
“No.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Amber clashes with hazel, rumbling quietly until Zuko gives up the staring contest.
“Fine.” He pulls out his phone. There’s a couple of unread messages and emails from work, a Canvas update, and—well, would you look at that.
Unread messages from an unknown number.
“That might be him!”
Zuko resists the urge to defenestrate his phone.
“Fucking—Az, please,” he begs. “Please don’t tell me you actually asked him out for me.”
Azula pats him on the shoulder. “I think you should give it a shot.”
“But—”
“Since when have my instincts ever been wrong?”
Zuko has instantaneous flashbacks to their childhood, to all of the dangerous stunts and things that Azula enjoyed doing to try and bend the rules, like that one time she convinced him to climb over the fence to steal peaches from their neighbor's backyard. He had ended up in the ED with a sprained wrist, an armful of unripe peaches, and a concerned sister.
“Mai.”
“That was before I knew you swung that way.”
“Ruon-Jian.” Zuko folds his arms, tongue curling in distaste at saying that name. If Mai is his friendly ex, then Ruon-Jian—Ruon-Jian is definitely his shitty one.
“Who’s that?”
Zuko scoffs. “I can’t believe you forgot about him, even after all the trouble I went through so you could hook up with Chan—”
“Oh, oh, oh. That bitch.” Azula sighs. “Totally forgot about him. And that was also before I figured that I, y’know, didn’t go for guys.”
“And then you set me up with his friend. Who is now my shitty ex.” In more ways than one, Zuko wants to add. Especially in the bedroom.
Especially in the bedroom.
“Yeah, I did. Sorry about that.” Azula has the decency to look sheepish. “Look. So maybe I haven’t been the best wingwoman in the past. And maybe I’m a nosy ass bitch who just wants you to talk to—” she pauses, eyes widening. “Oh my spirits. Please don’t tell me. But also… are you a—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Azula Lei.”
“Right, right. Boundaries.” Azula puts up both hands in defeat. “Not like I actually want to know the specifics of my brother’s sex life—”
“What did I say.”
“—or lack thereof,” she finishes.
Zuko looks wearily at his sister, whatever remnants of his ego dusted in the wind.
Azula stares back at him.
“So are you a—”
Zuko is two seconds away from disintegrating.
“No.”
“Then it’s fine!” Azula claps her hands together. She doesn’t look one bit regretful for the emotional chaos she’s bought on Zuko. “You should talk to him. Maybe y’all will fall in love or something, I don’t know. But I really think you should try it out. Think about it like a fresh start or something.”
Zuko’s still in the process of recovering from his personal revelation. “But Az—”
“Plus, isn’t it your senior year?” Azula flicks him on the forehead this time, a fond look on her face. “Maybe it’s your chance to go out and meet some new people, find new love, all that jazz.”
“Yeah, you should go out, Zuko.” Jet’s voice mutters from the confines of the kitchen.
Zuko turns around. He rolls his eyes in exasperation when he sees Yue, Haru, and Jet peeking out from behind the door.
“You really think I should do this, huh.”
“Please.” Jet sounds desperate. “Please. I’ve been trying to get you to go out for so long. Do it for me. Do it for your family.”
“Weird, but okay?”
“I don’t think it’s a bad idea at all, Zuko.” Yue says quietly. Haru just nods his head in approval.
“I can’t believe all of you are ganging up on me,” Zuko grouses. He hates to say that his friends have a point. It’s definitely been a while since he’s done something that isn’t work or school-related. The last time he’d gone on a date was eons ago, a guy from Hinge who was so forgettable, he doesn’t remember his face, his voice, or even where they ended up going. Now—what’s the worst that could happen? He can just lose the number if it doesn’t work.
He stands up.
“I’ll think about it,” he says, hoping the others can’t hear the uncertainty in his voice. “I’ll think about it, okay? Happy now?”
Azula pulls him into a hug while the other three crow their approval, knocking soju and mochi into the air.
“You won’t regret it, Zuzu,” his sister whispers to him in his ear. “I promise you, you won’t regret it.”
Part of Zuko wants to believe Azula, but part of him—well, most of him—is still hesitant about the whole thing.
“You guys are gonna have to clean that up, though.” He points to the spilled soju and mochi on the floor. “Especially you, Jet. Don’t think I didn’t see you.”
“Oh, fuck off, Zuko.”
══════════════════
UNKNOWN NUMBER
Hi uh
Sry if this seemed out of the blue
So I think ur sister
Or someone who says they’re ur sister
I’m so bad at this
I think she gave me ur number
She told me I would die in 7 days if I didn’t text u
So I decided to text u
Hey
Hey, yeah
Okay
Yeah so she did that
Sorry about my sister
She’s usually not like that
No ur ok
It rly wasn’t that bad
She was kinda nice
Doesn’t sound like my sister
But I’ll take your word for it
Let me make it up to you okay
Can I get you a coffee or something?
Anything
Nonono that’s fine
Ur good
I’m serious
Let me get you something
Oh ok sure
I guess?
When’re you free?
Uh anytime tbh
Just have class in the morning
How abt tmrw afternoon?
That’s good
Oh by the way
I don’t think I got your name
Uh
Hm
U can call me
Wang
Wang Fire
Wang Fire?
Is that your real name?
No comment
Wbu?
What’s ur name?
…
Call me Lee.
Nice 2 meet u, Lee
It’s nice to meet you, too.
Uh I guess
See u tmrw?
Yup.
Have a good night, Wang
U 2
Lee