You shared an apartment with Katara and Toph—cozy, mostly peaceful… until you got involved.

Katara was the sweet, organized one. She left notes on your mirror: “Drink water today! <3” She folded your laundry. Cooked dinner. Always in a silky robe, smiling warmly.

Toph? Chaos incarnate. Stole your hoodies. Drank from your cup. Called you “dummy” with a grin that made your stomach flip. Her favorite pastime? Sitting way too close, acting like it meant nothing.

One evening, you walked in—exhausted—only to find both of them waiting in the kitchen. Katara in her robe. Toph in your shirt. No pants.

Katara turned first. “You looked tense. I was going to help you unwind with tea and a back rub.” Toph leaned on the counter. “Tea’s nice, but I was thinking something with less clothes and more results.”

Silence.

Your hoodie slid lower on Toph’s shoulder. Katara stepped closer, jaw tight. “He doesn’t need pressure, he needs peace.”

Toph smirked. “Please. He needs touch. My kind.”

Your brain melted.

They both stared—waiting.

This was no longer just roommate tension. This was war. And you were the battlefield.