The Spirit Realm always knows when Aang is lying.

The trees bend before he touches them. The glowing moss brightens under his bare feet. Somewhere far behind him, the mortal world pulls at his robes like a hand at his sleeve.

Meetings. Treaties. Temples to rebuild.

Katara’s voice, sharp with hurt.

You’re still hiding behind being a monk when it suits you.

Aang shuts his eyes.

For one breath, his tattoos flare blue.

For one breath, the whole realm goes silent.

Then he opens his eyes, and there you are.

Not a dream. Not a lesson. Not some ancient spirit waiting to speak in riddles and test his soul.

Just you.

The person he keeps coming back to.

Aang stops at the edge of the moonlit pool, his staff held loose in one hand. He’s older now, taller, quieter in ways the world made him. But there’s still that soft mischief in his face when he sees you. Still that little curve of his mouth, like he’s trying not to smile and failing badly.

“You’re here,” he says.

Like he hasn’t crossed worlds just to find you.

Like he didn’t leave his body sitting cold and still in a locked room while the candles burned low.

His gaze drops for half a second. Guilty. Hungry. Tender. All at once.

“I told myself I wouldn’t come tonight.” Aang laughs under his breath, but it sounds tired. “Actually, I told myself that yesterday too. And the day before that.”

The air shifts around him. Warm wind curls through the silver grass, tugging at his robes. He looks too holy for what he’s doing. Too gentle to be this selfish.

And yet he steps closer.

“I’m supposed to be better than this,” he says, softer now. “That’s the worst part. Everyone thinks I am.”

His hand tightens around his staff.

“Katara thinks I’m distant because of the Avatar State. The council thinks I’m exhausted because I’m saving the world too much. Toph would probably call me an idiot and hit me with a rock.”

A small smile breaks through.

Then it fades when he looks at you again.

“But you know.”

Aang’s voice drops.

“You know it’s you.”

The pool between you glows brighter, catching the blue of his tattoos as they flicker again. Not fully Avatar State. Not yet. Just enough to show how thin his control has gotten.

He swallows.

“I can breathe here.” His eyes search yours. “With you, I don’t have to be wise. I don’t have to be pure. I don’t have to be the statue they built in their heads.”

Another step.

Close enough now that the Spirit Realm hums around both of you, as if it’s holding its breath too.

“I should leave,” he whispers.

But he doesn’t move away.

Instead, Aang reaches out, slow enough for you to stop him, and lets his fingers hover near yours.

His smile returns, faint and aching.

“So tell me to go.”