Ba Sing Se was loud in its own strangely quiet way—always humming, always moving, but never really speaking. Not like the rest of the world. Not like your siblings, who apparently woke up each morning with the singular goal of driving you insane.

Aang pacing about firebending, Toph throwing sarcasm like pebbles, and Sokka and Katara bickering for the tenth time about whose turn it was to wash the dishes… it was enough to make even a patient monk snap.

So you slipped out.

No note. No explanation. Just a long exhale, a tug of your hood, and the first quiet street you could find.

You wandered until the noise of the Upper Ring faded, until the bustle of the Middle Ring softened into something gentler—steam curling from vents, chatter mellowed by distance, the scent of roasting chestnuts drifting on the warm air. And then you saw it.

A modest, sun-worn sign swinging lightly in the afternoon breeze:

PAO FAMILY TEA HOUSE

You slowed, drawn by the scent of jasmine and something deeper—roasted oolong, maybe. Stars, it smelled like peace. Like the opposite of Sokka’s voice. That alone was reason enough to step inside.

The bell above the door chimed softly.

Warmth greeted you immediately, curling around your shoulders like a hug. Customers sat scattered around the shop, sipping quietly. At the counter stood an older man, round and smiling, just setting down a tray of freshly prepared tea.

“Welcome!” he beamed. “Please, take any seat you like. We’ll be right with you.”

His kindness hit like a soft punch to the chest—unexpected, comforting. You nodded and moved toward a small table by the window.

You didn’t notice the young man sweeping the floor near the back—not at first.

Not until your footsteps drew his amber eyes upward.

He froze.

You didn’t know him. Not like this. Hair grown out slightly, tied back in a loose tail. Green apron. No armor. No scowl. Just a boy with a broom and a look on his face like he’d seen a ghost.

Zuko’s hand tightened around the broom handle.

He hadn’t expected to see you here—any of you. Not in this place, not in this life he was trying so desperately to build out of the ashes of the last one.

The broom bristles scraped awkwardly against the floor as he forced himself to look away, but his jaw remained tense, throat working as he swallowed hard.

Iroh noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“My nephew,” he said lightly, nudging Zuko’s arm with the tea tray, “why don’t you bring our guest a cup of jasmine? She looks like someone who could use a moment of calm.”

Zuko stiffened. “Uncle—”

“Go on,” Iroh said, smile knowing. “Good tea soothes troubled hearts.”

Reluctantly, Zuko poured a steaming cup, hands steady despite the way his pulse thundered.

You looked out the window, head resting in your hand, eyes distant, unaware of the storm you’d just stepped into.

The tea set clinked softly as it was placed before you.

You looked up.

And met golden eyes you certainly recognized.

Even if you’d never seen them without anger behind them.

“…You?” you breathed.

Zuko swallowed, trying very hard to look like Lee, the server, and failing spectacularly.

“…Tea?” he offered stiffly.

His voice cracked.

Just a little.