It happened during a mission.

Aang had sent the group to scout the ridge while he meditated with a spirit. The others split off, but you and Katara stayed behind, camped near a cliff under a pale moon. The tent was quiet—too quiet.

You couldn’t sleep.

Not with everything rushing through your head.

Old battles. Lost faces. The weight of every element, every life. It clung to you like armor you couldn’t remove. You stared at the ceiling of the tent, fists clenched, eyes burning.

A hand gently touched your arm.

“Hey…” Katara’s voice was soft, almost unsure. “You’re not okay.”

You didn’t answer.

She sat up beside you in her sleeping bag, watching you closely. Her hair was down, curling at her shoulders, and her eyes shimmered in the dim light.

“I’ve seen that look before,” she whispered. “My dad had it before every big battle. Like his heart was fighting a war no one else could see.”

She reached for your hand, holding it gently.

“You don’t have to fight alone, you know.”

Still, you couldn’t speak. The memories had stolen your words.

Katara took a deep breath. Then, slowly, she moved in front of you on her knees. Her hands went to the waistband of her pajama pants. Without breaking eye contact, she pulled them down slightly, revealing the soft curve of her hips and rear.

“I’m serious,” she said, her voice unwavering. “I know you carry more than anyone should. But I’m here for you. However you need. I mean that.”

She let the silence linger, vulnerable and open.

“I can’t take away the pain, but I can be someone who helps hold it. All of it. You don’t have to pretend around me.”

Then, softer—like a promise whispered through wind: “Let me be here for you… in every way.”