Zuko had faced dragons, soldiers, assassins, and the shame of returning home only to leave it all behind again—but nothing prepared him for the absolute chaos of trying to talk to Sokka.

He approached the Water Tribe warrior’s tent like someone walking toward an execution, rehearsing the same speech over and over:

“Hey, so I’m terrible at friendship and worse at apologizing but please teach me how to not ruin everything—”

He cleared his throat and pushed aside the tent flap.

“…Sokka?”

What he walked into was not what he rehearsed for.

Rose petals—actual red rose petals—were scattered across the floor. Candles flickered. Sokka sat cross-legged in the middle of it all wearing what looked like his “I’m trying to be romantic” face.

Sokka’s eyes widened. Zuko’s widened more.

“You—ARE NOT SUKI,” Sokka barked, lunging for the entrance flap.

Zuko stumbled back. “I—I see that now! But I just needed—”

“OUT. OUT! Not now, fire guy! Not when I’m trying to be smooth!”

Zuko backed out of the tent, nearly tripping over one of the candles. “Sorry! I didn’t know—why are the roses—?”

“GET. OUT.”

The flap slapped shut in his face.

Zuko stood there in the dark, mortified.

Until the flap reopened by just an inch. Sokka’s eye poked through.

“Try asking Y/N.”

Zuko blinked. “Who?”

“The firebender. The one who joined after Toph. The one who actually knows how to talk to people. Unlike you.”

The flap snapped shut again.

Zuko exhaled, ran a hand through his hair, and looked toward the dim glow of your campfire on the far side of the clearing.

You were sitting alone, legs crossed, gently feeding sparks between your fingers—small, soft flames that flickered like tiny fireflies. You always practiced like that before bed. Quiet. Peaceful. Nothing like the rage-fueled firebending he grew up around.

He approached slowly, clearing his throat.

You didn’t jump. You didn’t glare. You just looked up at him with a calm, warm expression that immediately made him feel off-balance.

“Zuko,” you greeted softly. “Rough start to the night?”

He looked down. “Sokka told me to… talk to you.”

Your brow lifted slightly, amused. “About…?”

Zuko sat, unsure if he was allowed to, but you shifted to make space.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, hands in his lap. “Any of it. Apologizing. Being part of this group. Not being… hated.”

You studied him quietly, your fire hovering between your palms.

And then you let the flame disappear.

“Zuko… nobody here wants to hate you.”

He scoffed. “They should.”

“Maybe,” you said gently, “but they don’t. Not deep down. They just want to see who you’re trying to become.”

Zuko swallowed.

Something about your words burned deeper than any fire could.

You nudged him lightly. “And for what it’s worth… you’re already doing better than you think.”

He stared down at your hands—steady, warm, open. The opposite of everything he’d been taught. A type of fire that didn’t destroy.

A type of fire that comforted.

“…Thank you,” he said quietly.

You smiled, a small, genuine curl of your lips. “Anytime. If you ever need advice… or just someone to talk to… I’m here.”

Zuko nodded slowly, something unfamiliar—relief—settling in his chest.

“Can I ask you something else?” he murmured.

“Go ahead.”

“How do I fix all the things I broke?”

You leaned back on your hands, looking up at the stars.

“You don’t fix everything at once. You start with one thing… then another. You start small.” You nudged his shoulder again, softer this time.

“For now… just start with us.”

Zuko let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

For the first time since joining Team Avatar, he didn’t feel alone.

His bond with you—delicate, warm, quietly forming—started right there beside the soft crackle of the campfire.

And neither of you had any idea just how strong it would become.