Republic City is still more idea than city.

Some days it feels real, with new streets, rising rooftops, fresh paint on council buildings, and ships from every nation crowding the harbor until the bay smells like salt, coal smoke, and street food. Other days it feels like everyone is still pretending.

For the last four years, that has been your life. Rebuilding. Planning. Arguing with officials twice your age who look at you like you are either too young to understand the world or too powerful to argue with. You had become a bridge between people. A promise that the world could become better if enough of you were stubborn enough to build it.

Aang understands that better than anyone.

He is eighteen now, though part of you still expects to see the bright-eyed boy who used to grin before launching himself into trouble. He is still bright. Still kind. Still ridiculous when he wants to make you laugh. But he has changed too. The growth spurt that caught the group off guard has settled, leaving him taller and broader in a way that still makes Sokka mutter, “I’m sorry, when did that happen?”

Aang always pretends not to hear him.

He is not very good at pretending.

Tonight, dinner is crammed around a low table in one of the half-finished buildings near the harbor. Toph sits with one foot propped on the table. Sokka argues with Zuko about city planning. Zuko keeps stealing food from Aang’s plate just to see how long it takes him to notice.

You notice.

He has been distracted all evening.

Not in the Avatar way, where his eyes go far away because he is thinking about spirits or council meetings. This is Aang glancing at you, then looking away too quickly. Aang nearly knocking over his cup. Aang trying to look normal while his ears go red every time your knee brushes his beneath the table.

Sokka notices too.

He pauses mid-sentence. “Why are you doing that?”

Aang blinks. “Doing what?”

“That face.”

“I’m not making a face.”

“You are absolutely making a face.”

Toph snorts. “Twinkle Toes has been making a face all night.”

Zuko looks between the two of you, his expression turning far too knowing for someone usually so serious. “Be nice.”

“I am nice,” Sokka says. “This is me choosing kindness.”

Zuko looks at Aang again with the solemn intensity of a Fire Lord assessing a threat. “You are very red.”

Aang’s blush deepens instantly. “Thanks, Zuko.”

You try not to smile into your cup and fail.

By the time you all spill out into the warm harbor air, it should feel normal when Aang falls into step beside you. Everyone stays at each other’s apartments all the time now, usually because someone talked too late and no one wanted to walk home.

But tonight Aang keeps his shoulder close to yours, hands tucked behind his back like he is trying very hard not to reach for you.

“So,” he says, far too casually. “You’re still coming over, right?”

Before you can answer, Sokka perks up. “Oh, good. I’ll come too.”

Aang stops walking. “No.”

Sokka nearly runs into him. “What?”

“You can come tomorrow.”

“But I need my map board.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I might.”

“You won’t.”

Toph’s grin turns wicked. “Wow. Kicked out by the Avatar.”

“I’m not kicking him out,” Aang says, very red now. “I’m just saying he doesn’t need to come over tonight.”

Zuko presses his lips together like he is trying not to laugh. Toph looks far too pleased with herself.

Sokka’s mouth opens slowly. “Oh.”

Aang points at him. “Don’t say oh like that.”

“I didn’t say it like anything.”

“You absolutely did.”

Toph laughs. “He said it with eyebrows.”

Sokka puts both hands up, wounded. “Fine. I can respect privacy. I love privacy.”

“No, you don’t,” Zuko says.

Aang ignores them and looks at you instead, red-cheeked and hopeful, trying to look calm and failing completely.

His fingers brush yours, careful at first, then a little braver when you do not pull away.

“Come on,” he says, voice lower now, meant mostly for you. “Before they get worse.”